"But, oh, Philip, Philip, my beloved, they killed him!" she cried; and at last, for she had not wept yet, great tears rolled down into the grave, and uncontrollable anguish seized her. Brother Man did not attempt to console or interrupt. He knew she was in the arms of God. After a long time he said: "Yes, they crucified him. But he is with his Lord now. Let us be glad for him. Let us leave him with the Eternal Peace."

. . . . . . . .

When the snow had melted from the hillside and the first arbutus was beginning to bud and even blossom, one day some men came out to the grave and put up a plain stone at the head. After the men had done this work they went away. One of them lingered. He was the wealthy mill-owner. He stood with his hat in his hand and his head bent down, his eyes resting on the words carved into the stone. They were these:

PHILIP STRONG. PASTOR OF CALVARY CHURCH.

"In the cross of Christ I glory, Towering o'er the wrecks of time; All the light of sacred story Gathers round–"

Mr. Winter looked at the incomplete line and then, as he turned away and walked slowly back down into Milton he said, "Yes, it is better so. We must finish the rest for him."

Ah, Philip Strong! The sacrifice was not in vain! The Resurrection is not far from the Crucifixion.

. . . . . . . .

Near to its close rolls up the century; And still the Church of Christ upon the earth Which marks the Christmas of His lowly birth, Contains the selfish Scribe and Pharisee. O Christ of God, exchanging gain for loss, Would men still nail thee to the self-same cross? It is the Christendom of Time, and still Wealth and the love of it hold potent sway; The heart of man is stubborn to obey, The Church has yet to do the Master's will. O Christ of God, we bow our souls to thee; Hasten the dawning of Thy Church to be way!