from the hilltops that comes sweeping down through the
trees, while you are slowly picking your way along the rough, narrow
valley road. That breeze plays upon your inner strings and makes rare
AEolian melody. It is the breeze of God playing upon the heart-strings of
your soul. But _this_ music is heard only in _this_ valley road. Lovers of
music say there is nothing to compare with it.

You remember the words, "who for the _joy_ that was set before Him."[86]
Ah, the joy! As the Master's feet slipped down into the dark shadows--the
shame, the cross, the tomb--there was something else under the pain He was
suffering. There was a low underchording of sweet minor music, the
rhythmic swinging of His will with His Father's. And that music still sang
as He slipped down quite out of sight under the cold waters of the river
at the bottom of the gorge.

The Transfiguration Mount.

There were three of these glory experiences in our Lord's life, with a
fourth one yet to come. Midway in the last year came _the Transfiguration
Mount_. In a sore emergency, for the sake of the leaders of His little
band of disciples, the inner glory of His being was allowed to shine out
through His humanity. The glory of God shined out from within Him. The
usual fashion of His countenance was altered by the dazzling beauty-light
shining out through it.

And this too will be true of those who follow truly. As we live with our
faces ever held open to Him, the glory of His face will be reflected in
ours, and we shall be changed more and more into His image.[87] I have
frequently told the story of the jurist who lived in our middle-west
country two generations ago, a confirmed but honest sceptic, and who was
converted by the _face_ of a fellow townsman. The sceptic became
thoroughly convinced that the thing in his neighbour's face which so
attracted him was his Christian faith, and it was this that led the
sceptic to accept Christ. Last year, I met out in the Orient a kinswoman
of the man with the convincing face.

I remember distinctly one night, years ago, in northern Missouri, a young
woman waited at the close of a meeting with her friend. We talked and
prayed together and she made the great decision. I can remember looking
after the two as they went out, wondering to myself how much it meant to
her. I could not judge from her demeanour. But the next night they were
back again, and instantly I knew that it had meant much, everything, to
her.