nd he
surely then was thinking of us. I said just now our load is not light,
but how much heavier was the burden he took upon him of his own free will
to release us from woe. Every one must work, nay even Caesar himself, but
he who could dwell in the glory of his Father let himself be mocked and
scorned and spit in the face, let the crown of thorns be pressed on his
suffering head, bore his heavy cross, sinking under its weight, and
endured a death of torment, and all for our sakes, without a murmur. But
he suffered not in vain, for God accepted the sacrifice of his Son, and
did his will and said, 'All that believe on Him should not perish, but
have everlasting life.' And though a new and weary day is now beginning,
and though it should be followed by a thousand wearier still, though
death is the end of life--still we believe in our Redeemer, we have God's
word bidding us out of sorrows and sufferings into his Heaven, promising
us for a brief time of misery in this world, endless ages of joy.--Now go
to work. Our sturdy friend Krates will work for you dear Knakias until
your finger is healed. When the bread is distributed remember, each of
you, the children of our poor deceased brother Philammon. You, poor
Gibbus, will find your labors bitter to-day. This man's master, my dear
brethren, sold both his daughters yesterday to a dealer from Smyrna; but
if you never see them again in Egypt, or in any other country, my friend,
you will meet them in the home of your Heavenly Father--of that you may
rest assured. Our life on earth is but a pilgrimage, and Heaven is the
goal, and the Guide who teaches us never to miss the way, is our Saviour.
Weariness and toil, sorrow and suffering are easy to bear, to him who
knows that when the solemn hour is near, the King of Kings shall throw
open his dwelling-place, and invite him to enter as a favored guest to
inhabit there, where all we have loved have found joy and rest."

"Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will refresh
you," said a man's loud voice again from the circle that sat round the
old man. The old man stood up, signed to a boy who distributed the bread
in equal shares to the workmen, and took up a jar with handles, out of
which he filled a large wooden cup with wine.

Not a word of this discourse had escaped Mastor, and the often repeated
verse, "Come unto me all ye that labor," dwelt in his mind like the
invitation of a hospitable friend bidding him to