Christmas Evans, the Preacher of Wild Wales: His country, his times, and his contemporariesHood, Edwin Paxton
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Christmas Evans, the Preacher of Wild Wales: His country, his times, and his contemporaries
Hood, Edwin Paxton
Evans, Christmas, 1766-1838
“Behold the ‘Hind of the Morning’ on that dreadful mountain! It is
the place of skulls, where Death holds his carnival in companionship
with worms, and hell laughs in the face of heaven. Dark storms are
gathering there—convolving clouds, charged with no common wrath.
Terrors set themselves in battle-array before the Son of God; and
tempests burst upon Him which might sweep all mankind in a moment to
eternal ruin. Hark! hear ye not the subterranean thunder? Feel ye
not the tremor of the mountain? It is the shock of Satan’s
artillery, playing upon the Captain of our Salvation. It is the
explosion of the magazine of vengeance. Lo, the earth is quaking,
the rocks are rending, the graves are opening, the dead are rising,
and all nature stands aghast at the conflict of Divine mercy with the
powers of darkness. One dread convulsion more, one cry of desperate
agony, and Jesus dies—an arrow has entered into His heart. Now leap
the lions, roaring, upon their prey; and the bulls of Bashan are
bellowing; and the dogs of perdition are barking; and the unicorns
toss their horns on high; and the devil, dancing with exultant joy,
clanks his iron chains, and thrusts up his fettered hands in defiance
towards the face of Jehovah!
“Go a little farther upon the mountain, and you come to ‘a new tomb
hewn out of the rock.’ There lies a dead body. It is the body of
Jesus. His disciples have laid it down in sorrow, and returned,
weeping, to the city. Mary’s heart is broken, Peter’s zeal is
quenched in tears, and John would fain lie down and die in his
Master’s grave. The sepulchre is closed up, and sealed, and a Roman
sentry placed at its entrance. On the morning of the third day,
while it is yet dark, two or three women come to anoint the body.
They are debating about the great stone at the mouth of the cave.
‘Who shall roll it away?’ says one of them. ‘Pity we did not bring
Peter, or John with us.’ But, arriving, they find the stone already
rolled away, and one sitting upon it, whose countenance is like
lightning, and whose garments are white as the light. The
steel-clad, iron-hearted soldiers lie around him, like men slain in
battle, having swooned with terror. He speaks: ‘Why seek ye the
living among the dead? He is not here; He is risen; He is gone forth
from this cave victoriously.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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