the great pointed tower of the
Russians from which a huge bell booms out a deep-toned note of welcome.

On every side we see the hospices and convents and churches and palaces
of the different sects of Christendom. The streets are full of people
and carriages and beasts of burden. The dust rises around us. We are
tired with the trab, trab, trab of our horses' feet upon the hard
highroad. Let us not go into the confusion of the city, but ride quietly
down to the left into a great olive-grove, outside the Damascus Gate.

Here our white tents are pitched among the trees, with the dear flag of
our home flying over them. Here we shall find leisure and peace to unite
our hearts, and bring our thoughts into tranquil harmony, before we go
into the bewildering city. Here the big stars will look kindly down upon
us through the silvery leaves, and the sounds of human turmoil and
contention will not trouble us. The distant booming of the bell on the
Mount of Olives will mark the night-hours for us, and the long-drawn
plaintive call of the muezzin from the minaret of the little mosque at
the edge of the grove will wake us to the sunrise.

_A PSALM OF THE WELCOME TENT_

_This is the thanksgiving of the weary:
The song of him that is ready to rest._

_It is good to be glad when the day is declining:
And the setting of the sun is like a word of peace._

_The stars look kindly on the close of a journey:
The tent says welcome when the day's march is done._

_For now is the time of the laying down of burdens:
And the cool hour cometh to them that have borne the heat._

_I have rejoiced greatly in labour and adventure:
My heart hath been enlarged in the spending of my strength._

_Now it is all gone yet I am not impoverished:
For thus only may I inherit the treasure of repose._

_Blessed be the Lord that teacheth my hands to unclose and my fingers
to loosen:
He also giveth comfort to the feet that are washed from the dust of
the way._

_Blessed be the Lord that maketh my meat at nightfall savoury:
And filleth my evening cup with the wine of good cheer._

_Blessed be the Lord that maketh me happy to be quiet:
Even as a child that cometh softly to his mother's lap._

_O God thou faintest not neither is thy strength worn away with labour:
But it is good for us to be weary that we may obtain thy gift of rest._

III

THE GATES OF ZION