To climb Lebanon at this place is barely within the limits of possibility. The way is steep, high and rough, and at times perilous. To be sure, on foot one could climb it without danger, but not without great physical exertion. On horseback, however, it is a hazardous undertaking. No four-footed animal, save a mountain goat or an Arabian steed, dare undertake the ascent. If I live to get down, I shall christen my Arabian pony “Amnon, the reliable, the sure-footed.” The mountain is scaled, the summit is reached, and no Cedars yet. I am now standing on the heights of Lebanon, looking down upon the blue Mediterranean 10,000 feet below me and only three miles away towards the setting sun. The gray clouds, lying along the western horizon, look like white-winged ships floating on the bosom of the sea. For aught I know, they are ships freighted with whirlwinds and thunder-storms; or perchance they may be—I hope they are—freighted with rain to refresh this parched earth. [Illustration: CEDARS OF LEBANON.] Leaving the summit and coming down three thousand feet on the western side, I find myself resting under the venerable Cedars of Lebanon, seven thousand feet above the sea. It is a perfect day. The sky is of a rich, deep, azure blue and seems only a few feet above me. The atmosphere is pure and crisp. It is a glorious thing to be here. Look where you will, you find something to admire. The air is delightful; the earth, sea and sky are beautiful; but the waving Cedars are the one central object of interest and admiration—their age, their history, their beauty! Then come the sacred associations that cluster about the Cedars of Lebanon. All my life I have been reading of these trees. Before I could read, my mother used to sing me a sweet song about the Cedars of Lebanon. All of mother’s songs were sweet, but especially sweet, I thought, was this one about the Cedars. And now I am here looking at them with my own eyes. Of all trees on earth those are by far the most renowned. Of all the vegetable kingdom they are the crowning glory. From this mountain Solomon got the timber to build his temple on Mount Moriah. In all probability some of these trees that I am now looking at were here in Solomon’s day. I feel that I am in the presence of Age. These venerable Cedars are not ringed round by years or decades, but by centuries! And yet their wrinkles may be counted by the score. These trees are mentioned more than twenty-five times in the pages of Sacred Writ. They are called “goodly Cedars.”