"Our father Abraham, living among those who offered their children to the deity, was once allowed by the Lord to think that he, too, must offer his son. To the rocky dome of Mount Moriah he led his beloved Isaac; bound him upon an altar; raised the knife to slay him; when the Lord's voice cried to him out of heaven, 'Lay not thine hand upon the lad;' and, turning quickly, the trembling father saw a ram caught by the horns in a thicket, and offered it instead of his son. That rock is now the base of the great altar in the temple court at Jerusalem. All our worship means this--the Lord God is a Father. He wants no suffering sacrifice among men. If sin needs atonement, God's own gracious heart will make it. He wants only man's contrition and love. The Lord is my helper; not my hater. The Jews' sacrifice really means that there is no need of sacrifice, except what Heaven itself shall provide. It is an offering in gratitude, not in penalty; an offering to praise, not to appease, the Judge of all the earth." Ben Yusef's face beamed with an almost unearthly beauty as he spoke. His voice trembled, but was sweetened, too, by the great depth of his emotion. He uttered no formality of faith. His words were no echo of men's thoughts. They had, as it seemed to Hiram, a double source of suggestion--from heaven above, and from the profound experience of the man's own soul. Hiram could not help contrasting this peasant with the great Herodotus. The Jew's philosophy seemed deeper than the Greek's. And it was not only philosophy, but an inner life, a feeling, a knowledge. The Greek had pushed away some shadows; the Jew stood out in the light. The Greek's thoughts were formed with beauty, as his statues were carved from the stone; the Jew's thoughts were immense, and untrimmed by human art, like the rocky pinnacle of Safed upon which they stood. CHAPTER XIV. Towards nightfall they descended the mountain, and were nearing the home tent. "Listen!" said the old man, putting his hand upon the shoulder of his comrade. "That is the very soul of our religion--a song in the heart that sends a song to the lips, as the fountain comes bubbling from the full veins in the earth." A sweet, strong voice rang up through the ravine, to the top of which they had come. Ben Yusef's eyes filled with tears. "So like her mother's voice," he said. It was Ruth who was singing: "Jehovah's my Shepherd; I'll not want. In pastures green he makes me lie, By restful waters leadeth." Before the girl stalked a great dog, large enough to tear a wolf. He pricked up his ears, stopped, threw back his head, then with a bound broke through the bushes and climbed the shaly bank to where his master and Hiram were standing. Ruth followed as nimbly as a goat.