the year 404, on this wise. The feast of the Saturnalia was being celebrated in Rome. The Coliseum was filled with an expectant multitude. The games were under way. The foot-races and chariot-races were followed by the play of Orpheus, in which the hero was doomed to the beasts. The people had tasted blood and clamored for more. The gladiators came forth, saying, Ave Cæsar, morituri te salutamus! They crossed swords and went down one by one, the people gloating over their death. This was witnessed by brave knights and centurions, by vestal virgins, by mothers and little children. But the choicest of the sports was yet to come. A cry was heard, "The Christians to the lions!" While the arena was being strewn with fresh sand, an old man sprang over the barriers, bareheaded, barefooted, clad in a hermit's garb, and cried, "O ye people, cease from the shedding of blood! There is a God who will avenge his own!" A moment of silence, and then the fury of the populace broke forth. He folded his hands and lifting his face in prayer calmly awaited his doom. A moment later his mangled body lay upon the sand; but the face of that monk, whose name is unknown, was long seen in dreams and visions of the night. His life had not been squandered; for that was the last martyrdom of the Coliseum. Not long afterward a decree of toleration was issued, and the Christians came forth from their hiding-places and gave praises for freedom to worship God.

How long ago it seems! What wonders have been wrought since then! Let us come out of the mouldy passages of the catacombs, so eloquent of the past, and look around us. Here are the Seven Hills; the desolate Campagna stretches afar; the sluggish tide of the Tiber still rolls by. The Forum is here, but its columns are crumbling and the voices of its mighty ones are hushed. Yonder on the Palatine was Nero's Golden House; its site is marked by a Capuchin monastery. Listen, and you may hear the monks droning their vespers! Nero's gardens were just over there, once lit by living torches, the Christians being smeared with pitch and set on fire to illuminate the revels. In the midst of those gardens now rises the dome of St. Peter's, with its great golden cross shining red in the light of the setting sun. The walls of the Flavian amphitheatre which rang with the cry, "Ad leones!" are broken and gray, and solitude pervades it. On yonder arch of Titus, commemorating the pagan conquest of Jerusalem, is the figure of the golden candlestick; but He that standeth in the midst of the golden candlestick has triumphed over all. Above that arch rises another, spanning the heavens and the earth, a bow of promise painted with all the splendors of sunlight shining through the tempests of history; and there is a cry, "Hosanna! hosanna! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!" The skies are opened and One draws near whose right it is to reign, crowned with a diadem of stars and accom

panied by a retinue of angels praising him and saying, "Thou art worthy to receive power and dominion and riches and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and blessing, for ever and ever!"

The days of persecution are past, but the holy war is still on. The possibilities of moral heroism are greater now than ever. It takes more courage to lie still and suffer for Jesus' sake than to climb the steep but short ascent of martyr's pain. It takes more courage to face derision than to stand bound at the stake in a circle of flame. Many a man decorated for heroism on the thin red line has gone down before a pointed finger. pointed finger. In these piping times of peace the great temptation is to yield unresistingly to the specious allurements of sin. By our blood-bought heritage in the memory of the noble army of martyrs, let us, in the face of duty and temptation, quit ourselves like men!

Must I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,

While others fought to win the prize
And sailed through bloody seas?

Sure I must fight if I would reign;
Increase my courage, Lord!
I'll bear the toil, endure the pain,
Supported by thy word.

8. PRAYER

I thank thee, Lord, for the record of those who have bravely climbed to heaven by the steep path of martyrdom. Help me to follow

in their train. If I am shut up in a narrow and lonely place help me there to show forth thy praises, as Paul and Silas sang in prison at Philippi. Blessed be thy name, thou givest songs in the night! There is no loneliness when thou art near; there is no darkness when thou showest the light of thy countenance. If I am ever called to suffer for the truth's sake help me to suffer gladly. Stay by me in the hour of trial and temptation, that I may be loyal to truth, fearless in the discharge of duty and faithful unto the end, for Jesus' sake. Amen.

9. HYMN: "I am thine, O Lord, I have heard thy voice."

10. BENEDICTION

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God the Father and the communion of the Holy Ghost be with you. Amen.

TWENTY-FOURTH SERVICE

The Half-way Man

1. INVOCATION

MY

Y SOUL waiteth for thee, O Lord; yea, more than they that watch for the morning. Be pleased to make thy presence known, else this will be a barren hour. I do believe thou art here, nearer than touching or seeing. May all blessings come with thee. Help me now to yield myself wholly unto thee, for Jesus' sake. Amen.

2. HYMN: "Jesus calls us o'er the tumult." 3. SCRIPTURE LESSON

Psalm 84.

Luke 18:9-30.

4. PRAYER

O God, my Father, in weakness and sinfulness I appeal unto thee, in the name of thy beloved Son, for pardon and sustaining grace. Amid the confusing voices of the world I am in constant danger of being led away from truth and righteousness; wherefore lead me, I pray thee, in the right way. Reveal unto me clearly the great verities of the spiritual life and the eternal principles of character;