us look of mingled sorrow
and pity, of suffering more for His sake than his own, and of tender
allusion to the scene and words of the previous evening, which broke
Peter's heart, and sent him forth to weep bitterly.

The light was breaking over the hills of Moab, flushing with roseate
hues the marble pinnacles of the temple, whilst the city and
surrounding valleys were still shrouded in the grey gloom, as Peter
went forth alone from the high priest's palace. Only those whose last
words to the beloved dead were rude and thoughtless--not expecting that
there would be no opportunity to unsay them and ask forgiveness, but
that, ere they met again, death would have sealed in silence the only
lips that could speak words of relief and peace--can realize just what
Peter felt. Did he know Him? Of course he did, and ever since that
memorable hour, when Andrew first brought him into His presence, he had
been growing to a more perfect knowledge. Did he love Him? Of course
he did; and Jesus, who knew all things, knew it too. But why had he
acted thus? Ah, the reasons were not far to seek. He had boasted of
his superiority to all his brethren; had relied on his own braggart
resolutions; had counted himself strong because he could speak strongly
and loudly when danger was not near; had thought that he could cope
with Satan, though arrayed in no stronger armor than that which his
red-hot impulse forged. He thought his resolutions wheat and his
Master's cautions light as chaff; he had to learn his weakness and see
his confidence winnowed away as clouds of chaff while Satan sifted him.

The resolutions of the evening are not strong enough to carry us
victoriously through the morning conflict. We must learn to watch and
pray, to lie low in humility and self-distrust, and to be strong in the
grace which awaits all tempted ones in God.

And where could Peter go to weep his bitter tears but to Gethsemane!
He would surely seek out the spot where his Master's form was still
outlined in the crushed grass, and his tears would fall where the
bloody sweat had fallen but a few hours before. But how different the
cause of sorrow! The anguish of the blessed Lord had none of the
ingredients that filled the cup of Peter to the brim! And all the
while the memory of that sorrow, of those broken cries, of that coming
and going for sympathy, of those remonstrances against his senseless
sleep, and of that last tender, yearning, pitiful look o