"Sleep on now, and take your rest: behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners."
The moment in which humanity had cried out for sympathy had passed, when human sympathy, human gratitude, might have solaced anguish, when united prayer might have brought consolation. The temptation was over; the temptation to escape by the power of His Godhead a degrading death. Their silence had been His answer. Henceforth there would be no hesitation, the flesh was conquered, now 't was His joy to die. The insults and jeers of high priests and publicans alike, the taunts and gibes of a whole nation would never again make manifest that bleeding of the soul. No pain, no thirst, no glaring noon-day sun, no prison chains, or smitings of dirty, sin-stained hands would bring one cry. Like a sheep before its shearers He would be dumb.
The new prayer would be, "Let not this cup pass from Me. Fill it to the brim, if so be Thy will, O God, that the salvation of this people be full and free and perfect, wide as the rivers, high as the mountains. The fulness of the sacrifice shall be perfect. Humanity is dead for ever in Me. I live now but to die."
There was no flinching in His next words, no fear, no echo of His awful agony. "He is at hand that doth betray Me."
For some time the disciples at the gate had watched with uneasiness a little line of uneven lights, that twinkled hither and thither on the road, along which they had come but two hours before.
