eaven, and so far as we know
heaven had never hailed any other world. I think that the windows and
the balconies were thronged, and that the pearline beach was crowded
with those who had come to see Him sail out the harbor of light into
the oceans beyond.

THE EXILE.

Out, and out, and out, and on, and on, and on, and down, and down, and
down He sped, until one night, with only one to greet Him, He arrived.
His disembarkation so unpretending, so quiet, that it was not known on
earth until the excitement in the cloud gave intimation that something
grand and glorious had happened. Who comes there? From what port did
He sail? Why was this the place of His destination? I question the
shepherds, I question the camel drivers, I question the angels. I have
found out. He was an exile. But the world has had plenty of
exiles--Abraham an exile from Ur of the Chaldees; John an exile from
Ephesus; Kosciusko an exile from Poland; Mazzini an exile from Rome;
Emmett an exile from Ireland; Victor Hugo an exile from France;
Kossuth an exile from Hungary. But this one of whom I speak to-day had
such resounding farewell and came into such chilling reception--for
not even an hostler came out with his lantern to help Him in--that He
is more to be celebrated than any other expatriated one of earth or
heaven.

HOMESICKNESS.

It is ninety-five million miles from here to the sun, and all
astronomers agree in saying that our solar system is only one of the
small wheels of the great machinery of the universe, turning round
some one great centre, the centre so far distant it is beyond all
imagination and calculation; and if, as some think, that great centre
in the distance is heaven, Christ came far from home when He came
here. Have you ever thought of the homesickness of Christ? Some of you
know what homesickness is, when you have been only a few weeks absent
from the domestic circle. Christ was thirty-three years away from
home. Some of you feel homesickness when you are a hundred or a
thousand miles away from the domestic circle. Christ was more
millions of miles away from home than you could calculate if all your
life you did nothing but calculate. You know what it is to be homesick
even amid pleasurable surroundings; but Christ slept in huts, and He
was athirst, and He was ahungered, and He was on the way from being
born in another man's barn to being buried in another man's grave. I
have read how the Swiss, when they are far away fr