hame unto the end,
That one of us betrayed the tryst his Friend
Would keep with God. A sign that none might miss

He named--the pledge of love. The soul's abyss,
Christ saw, the heart of night, the <i>purse</i>, the end;
Knew all, a Man, and knowing stui could bend
With soul unpoisoned to receive the kiss.

Before the multitude have I kist Thee
Fresh come from my blood-barter--thou but come
From intercession for all souls--and me.
And, mocking Love Divine, amazed and dumb,
I learn Love's deathlessness, and trembling press
The lips that kiss away my faithlessness."[37]

Sacrifice

One Hank Over For the Candle.
Sin's Healing Shadow.
The Underground Way into Life.
A Rare Harvest.
The Fellowship of Scars.
"Won't You Save Me?"

Sacrifice

<u>One Hank Over For the Candle.</u>

The light of a common candle in the window of a little cottage near the
coast shone far out over the sea. It was up north of Scotland, in one of
the Orkney Islands. Near the window sat a frail, gray-haired woman with
cheery, thoughtful face. She was busy working at her spinning-wheel, and
watching the candle, turning now and again to trim it. All night long she
sat at the spinning-wheel and watching the candle. Fishermen out on the
water, heading for home, knew that light could be counted on, and came
safely in, past all the dangers of their coast.

For more than fifty years that woman tended her little lighthouse. When
she was a young girl there had been a wild storm, and her father, out in
his fisherman's boat, lost his life. There were no shore-lights. His boat
had struck a huge, dangerous rock called Lonely Rock, and been wrecked.
The father's body was found in the morning washed up on the shore. She
watched by her father's body, as was the habit of her people, until it was
laid away. Then she laid down on her bed and slept the day through. When
night came she rose, lit a candle, put it in the window, drew up her
spinning-wheel, and began her night vigil for the unknown out at sea.

All night long, and all her life long, her vigil of love and light
continued. From youth to old age, through winter and summer, storm and
calm, fog and clear, that humble lighthouse beacon failed not. Each night
she spun so many hanks of yarn for her daily bread, and <i>one hank over for
the candle</i>. She turned night into day, reversing the whole habit of her