The intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1887-1891, 1889-12-14

Kings castle. Looking along in tho
range of the larger branch of that olive
tree, and see the mansions of the mer-
chant princes. Through this cleft in
the limestone rock you see the palace of
the richest trafficker in all the earth.
He has made his money by selling "
rian purple. Behold now the temple!
Clouds of smoke lifting from the SHIN
mering roof, while the building rises up
beautiful, grand, majestic, the archi-
t~ectural skill and glory of the earth
lifting themselves there in one triumph
an~t-doXology, the prayer of all nations.
The crowd looked around to see exhil-
aration and transport in the face of
Christ. Oh, no! Out from amid the
gates, and the domes, and the palaces,
there arose a vision of this city's sin,
and of this city's doom, which obliter-
ated. the landscape from horizon to hori-
zon, and He burst into tears, crying: so
Jerusalem, Jerusalem!" But that was
tho only day of pOmp that Jesus saw in
and around that city. Yet lie walked
the streets of his city the loveliest and
most majestic being that the world ever
saw or eve will see. Publius Lentilus,
in a letter to the Roman Senate, de-
scribes Him as "a man of statue some
what tall, His hair the color of a chest
nut fully ripe, plain to the ears, whence
downward it is more orient, curling and
waving about the shoulders; in the
midst of His forehead is a stream, or
partition of His hair; forehead plain and
very delicate; His face without spot or
wrinkle, a lovely red; His nose and
mouth so forked as nothing can be rep
resented; his beard thick, in color like
his hair-not very long; his eyes gray,
quick M clear" He must die. The
French army in Italy found a brass
plate on which was a copy of his death
warrant, signed by John Zerubbabel,
Raphael Robani, Daniel Robani and
Capet.
Sometimes men on the way to the
scaifold have been rescued by the mob.
No such attempt was made in this case.
for the mob was against Him. From
nine in the morning till three in the
afternoon Jesus hung a-dying in the out
skirts OF this city. 1t was a scene of
blood. We are so constituted that
nothing is so exciting as blood. 1t is
not the child's cry in the street that so
arouses you as the crimson dripping
from its lips. In the dark hall, seeing
the finger mark of blood on the plaster
ing, you cry: What terrible deed has
been done here?" Looking upon this
suspended victim of the cross, we thrill
with the sight of blood-blood dripping
from thorn and nail, blood rushing upon
His cheek, blood ~saturating his gar
ments, blood gathered in a pool beneath.
1t is called an honor to have in ones
veins the blood of the house of Stuart, or
of the House of Hapsburg. Is it moth
ing when 1 point you to the %outpouring
blood of the King of the universe?
In England the name of Henry was |
so great that its honors were divided
among different reigns. 1t was Henry |
l., and Henry H., and Henry I'LL, and
Henry ~, and Henry v. In France
the name of Louis was SO favorably re-
garded that it was Louis l., Louis H., |
Louis I'LL, and so on. But the King
who walked these streets was Christ the
First, Christ the Last and Christ the
Only. He reigned before the Car
mounted the throne of Russia, or the
throne of Austria was lifted, ''King, |
eternal, immortal" Through the in
diligence of the royal family the phys
ical life degenerates, and some of the
kings have been almost imbecile, and
their bodies weak, and their blood thin |
and watery; but the crimson life that
flowed upon Calvary had in it the health
of i'm mortal God.
Tell it now to all the earth and to all
the heavens-Jesus, our King, Is sick
with His last sickness. Let couriers car |
ry the swift dispatch. His pains are
worse; He is breathing q last groan; the
King Is dying; the King is dead! 1t Is
royal blood. 1t Is said that some re- |
l~igionists make too much of the human
ity of Christ. l respond that we make
too little. If some Roman surgeon, |
standing under the cross, had caught M
drop of the blood on his hand and
analysed it, it would have beer found to
have the same plasma, the same disk, |
the same flbrin, the same albumen. 1t
was Enthusiastically human blood. 1t
is a nan that hangs there. His
bones are of the same material
as ours. His nerves are sensitive
like ours. If it were an angel be-
ing ~despoiled l would not feel it so much, |
for it belongs to a different order of be-
ings. But my Saviour is a man, and my
whole sympathy is aroused. l can
imagine how the spikes felt-how hot
the temples burned-what deathly sick |
ness seized the heart-how mountains, |
and city, and mob swan away from His
dying Misunderstanding of the mean
ing of that cry for help that makes the
blood of all ages curdle with horror:
"My God! my God! why hast thou for
saken me?" Forever with all these
scenes of a Saviour's suffering will this
city be associated. Here His unjust trial
and here His death. o, Jerusalem, Jeru-
salem!
But finally l am thrilled with the fact
that this city is a symbol of Heaven
which is only another Jerusalem. The
New Jerusalem!' And this thought has
kindled the Imagination of all the sacred
poets. l am glad Horatio Bonar, the
SEQ tch hymnist, rummaged among old
manuscripts of the British Museum UNI
til he found that hymn in ancient SPELL
ing, parts of which we have in mutilat-
ed form in our modern hymn books, but
the quaint power of which we do rot
get in our modern versions:
Hierusalem, my happy homei
When shall / come to thee?
When shall my SORROWS have an end?
Thy joyes when shall l see?
Noe dampish mist Is seen in thee,
Noe cOlde nor darksOme night;
There eVerie Soule shines as the sunne,
There God himselfe gives light.
The walls are made of precious stones,
Thy bulwarks diamonds square;
Thy gates are of right orient pearlO,
Exceeding richie and rare.
Thy turrettes and thy pinnacles
With carbuncles doe shine;
Thy verrie streets are paved with gould,
Surpassinge cleare and fine.
Thy houses are of yyOrie,
Thy windows crystal cleare;
Thy tyles are made of beaten gould,
o, God that l were there.
Our sweetc Is MKT with bitter gauIe,
Our pleasure Is but paine;
Our joyes scarce last the lookeIng on,
Our sOrrows stille RENAME.
But there they lived in such delight,
Such pleasure and such play.
AS that to them a thousand years
Doth seem as yesterday.
Thy garden and thy gallant wakes
Continually are greene;
There grow such sweets and pleasant
flowers
As nowhere else are scene.
There trees for evermore bearc fruite
And cyeTInOre doe syringe;
There evermore the angels sit,