He has gone forth now on the path of discipleship, and his works of miraculous power proclaim him. At his call and command the gates of oblivion are opened, and the dead come back to life—the sick, laid on their couches of pain and agony, arise and walk at his word; and the gospel of mercy and salvation sounds with marvelous success when its blessings are proclaimed by his eloquent tongue to the weary, and the poor, and the heavy-laden. The evil spirits suffered to torment them who would fain tread in the right path are cast forth, and then the sorrowing repentant goeth on his way rejoicing! But, as he works all this good for others, his own mind is tormented by the conflicting voices which are calling to him. He stills the tempests in the minds of the distressed, and those burdened with cruel doubts, but in his own breast there is a storm raging continually, which he _cannot_ command to silence. He holds up to the parched and dying creatures surrounding him a cup, while he proclaims, “Ho ye that thirst! buy wine, buy milk, without money and without price!” “Drink, and ye shall not thirst again!” while he himself is dying of thirst—and ever as he raises to his own lips the cup which contains the healing for the nations, his spirit shrinks back from the draught—it will not drink—it is gall and wormwood to him! He lifts his voice, and conviction and peace fall upon them who listen to him. Repentance is hurled to the sinful heart with the words, “His yoke is easy, and His burden light!” while himself is drooping and fainting under the weight of deceit which is upon him. Wherever he goes he proclaims “Peace!” to the children of men—and peace visits all who will hearken to him. But in his own breast—ah, _there_ is warfare and strife, the accusings of conscience, the warnings of wrath to come! In the chambers of sickness, where the dying were restored to health; by the wayside, where the foully diseased were cleansed—before the opened tomb, whence at his call the dead came clothed once again with the garment of life, amid the multitudes who listened with deepest interest to his most forcible words, alone, in the solitude of his own heart, or when in holy communion of thought with the faithful brethren, alike at all times, and in all places, heard he the still small voice of his accusing spirit. The outward form of grace was his, but the purification had not penetrated into the recesses of his heart! The agonizing knowledge that at each onward step he was plunging deeper and deeper into the sin which could not be forgiven—the continual remembrance that he was dispensing to others the mercy of that God who would forget to be gracious to him, may be easily conjectured; but may Heaven spare us all from such agony of conflicting thoughts and hopes as must have been the daily and nightly companion of Judas Iscariot, long before he came out from the disciples’ ranks to betray his lord into the hands of sinners!