would daily fade, until they should become a dream! What would remain of all this teaching? A tale of some miracles, the story of a shameful death, a few trusting hearts. What sign that salvation had come to the world? Christ would have spoken in vain. How could they hope to persuade the world when He had failed? The very miracles would be jeered at, either as lies, or, if they did occur, as the result of witchcraft. What would survive, or how could they make gift of the inward burnings of their hearts? As if the Christ had heard the searching of their hearts He paused on the greensward and spoke:
"I will pray to the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, that He may abide with you forever; and He shall bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said. I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you."
And, while the disciples wondered amongst themselves, one said to another: "He meaneth Lazarus, He meaneth Lazarus."
But Lazarus denied it vehemently. "Who am I?" he asked. " 'T is the Spirit of Truth that will come, which the world cannot receive."
But the mournful journey was nearly at an end. At each step they would have halted gladly, to hold back the future, to live again but for a few short minutes those precious moments they were conscious now they had too little valued.
A God had come and was passing hence, and they had only now begun to know Him. How doubly treasured would be the memory of those days, now that their tale was almost ended!
