harangue the crowd with
helpless protestations, or to beg for the death-stroke; but this Jesus
preserved a majestic silence. The people also seemed wrapped in a weird
terror. Naught was heard but the rattling of armor as some soldier
jostled his comrade, or the sobbing of women or the dropping of blood.
Thus until the ninth hour of the day.

It was now the time of the evening sacrifice, and the darkness began
slowly to lift. Then the Nazarene uttered his only word of complaint:
"I thirst." Whereupon a strange thing happened. One of my soldiers,
trained in the arena and in gladiatorial contests--a man who had never
been known to spare a foe, delighting in the sack of cities, looking on
unmoved when children were dashed against the stones--this man dipped a
sponge in the sour wine which was provided for the guard, and would
have raised it to the sufferer's lips. But the Jews cried out, "Let be,
let be! Let us see if Eli will come to help him!" For a moment the
soldier hesitated, even joined in the cry; then giving way to the more
merciful promptings of his heart, lifted the sponge and assuaged the
thirst of the dying man. It was the only deed of kindness I noted on
Golgotha that day. In return for it the Nazarene cast upon his
benefactor such a look of gratitude that he was ever after a different
man. His nature seemed to be transformed by it.

Then Jesus cried with a loud voice, "_Tetelestai!_ It is finished!" Did
this signify that his pain was over? Well might he, after such anguish,
utter a sigh of relief. Or was it that his mission was accomplished? So
have I seen a laborer turn homeward from his day's work with pleasant
anticipation of rest. So have I seen a wayfarer quicken his footsteps
as, at eventide, he came in sight of the village lights. So have I seen
a soldier, weary with the stress of conflict and wounded unto death,
bear the standard aloft as he climbed the parapet and with his last
voice shouted for victory!

And then the last word. It was spoken softly, as if from the threshold
of the other world, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit!" Then,
as he yielded up the ghost, a look of surpassing peace fell upon his
upturned face, which lingered even after death had put its rigid seal
upon it. Thus he fell on sleep. I have ofttimes since been reminded of
that look when I have seen an infant lulled in its mother's arms, or
when, walking through a Christian cemetery, I have noted upon the
tombstones of