OUR Lord had visited the temple for the last time. He had silenced all his enemies; He had frustrated all their deep-laid plans to entangle Him in His own words. He had poured out on the Scribes and Pharisees those terrible denunciations which filled up the cup of their spite and fury to overflowing. Then looking about Him, doubtless, at the magnificent building, and the still great and prosperous city with its crowded inhabitants, His heart of love and pity overflowed once more, as it had done at the time of His triumphal entry. "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets and stonest them that are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not." And then came the saddest words of all. "Behold, your house is left unto you, desolate." Our Lord never entered the temple again. It stood in its majesty for many a year, untouched by any outward enemy, throwing back the sunbeams, a "pile of gold and snow." Yet was it as surely a ruin as when the fire that devoured it was quenched in the blood of priests and worshippers. For the Lord had departed and all the splendor was but an empty show. The house was left, but it was desolate. Probably none of those who crowded to hear the Lord's last words, realized that they were the last. He had been going in and out among them for three years. They had become, as it were, used to seeing His miracles and hearing His teachings, and there seemed no special reason why these miracles and teachings should not go on indefinitely. Probably very few, except His bitterest enemies, had made up their minds absolutely to reject Him. There was time enough, they thought. But they were awfully mistaken. There was no more time. The clock had struck, though they had not heard it. The Lord, whom they had pretended to seek, had come to His temple, but the rulers there would have none of Him. And so they were left to themselves, to fill up the measure of their iniquities, and to be filled in turn with their own devices in a manner more awful than the world has ever seen. To every man and woman on earth there is coming a last time—a last Lent, a last Easter, a last Sunday, a last chance. "God had appointed a day." We know not what day, nor when it is to come, but being appointed, it is constantly drawing nearer and nearer. And when once the Master of the house has risen, and has shut to the door, it will not be opened again. God grant that at that awful time, none of us who have walked on together through this holy season, may be left outside that door to knock in vain! _WEDNESDAY BEFORE EASTER._ _THE LOST OPPORTUNITIES._