The poor disciples whom the Master left
became apostles; footsore and weary they wandered--they were scorned and
imprisoned and tortured until the last man of them had passed away.
Their work has subdued princes and empires, and the bells that ring out
on Christmas Eve remind us not only of the most tremendous occurrence in
history, but of the deeds of a few humble souls who conquered the fear
of death and who resigned the world in order that the children of the
world might be made better. A tremendous Event truly! We are far, far
away from the ideal, it is true; and some of us may feel a thrill of
sick despair when we think of what the sects have done and what they
have not done--it all seems so slow, so hopeless, and the powers of evil
assert themselves ever and again with such hideous force. Some withdraw
themselves to fierce isolation; some remain in the world, mocking the
ways of men and treating all life as an ugly jest; some refuse to think
at all, and drag themselves into oblivion; while some take one frantic
sudden step and leave the world altogether by help of bullet or bare
bodkin. A man of light mind who endeavoured to reconcile all the things
suggested to him by the coming of Christmas would probably become
demented if he bent his entire intellect to solve the puzzles.
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