'_I am the Resurrection!_'--those were the words that Sydney Carton saw written on land and on water, on earth and on sky, on the night on which he made up his mind to die. '_I am the Resurrection!_' They were the words that he had heard read beside his father's grave. They are the words that we echo, in challenge and defiance, over _all_ our graves. The rubric of the Church of England requires its ministers to greet the dead at the entrance to the churchyard with the words: '_I am the Resurrection and the Life_;' and, following the same sure instinct, the ministers of all the other Churches have adopted a very similar practice. The earth seems to be a garden of graves. We speak of those who have passed from us as 'the great majority.' We appear to be conquered. But it is all an illusion. 'O Grave!' we ask, in every burial service, 'where is thy victory?' And the question answers itself. The victory does not exist. The struggle is not yet ended. '_I am the Resurrection!_' '_I am the Life!_'--that is what all the echoes were saying as Sydney Carton, cherishing a great heroic purpose in his heart, paced the deserted streets that night. '_I am the Life! I am the Life!_' '_He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live!_' '_Whosoever believeth in Me shall never die!_' That being so, what does death matter? 'O, death!' we cry, 'where is thy sting?' and once more the question answers itself. '_O Death, where is thy sting?_'--'_I am the Life!_' '_O Grave, where is thy victory?_'--'_I am the Resurrection!_' _The Life and the Resurrection!_ '_I am the Resurrection and the Life!_' The text that he saw in every sight, and heard in every sound, made all the difference to Sydney Carton. The end soon came, and this is how Dickens tells the story. The tumbrils arrive at the guillotine. The little seamstress is ordered to go first. 'They solemnly bless each other. The thin hand does not tremble as he releases it. Nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She is gone. The knitting women, who count the fallen heads, murmur twenty-two. And then-- '_I am the Resurrection and the Life; he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die._' They said of him about the city that night that it was the peacefullest man's face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime and prophetic. _I am the Resurrection! O Grave, where is thy victory?_ _I am the Life! O Death, where is thy sting?_ IV