“Judge,” said he, “have we got to submit to this? We’re here to take our punishment, but this—” and he began to sob. It was impossible to proceed with the business of the court, yet the judge gave no order to stop the song. It moved on to its climax: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem! Sing for the night is o’er! Hosanna in the highest! Hosanna for evermore!” In an ecstasy of melody the last words rang out, and then there was silence. The judge looked into the faces of the men before him. There was not one who was not touched by the song; not one in whom some better impulse was not stirred. He did not call the cases singly—a kind word of advice, and he dismissed them all. No man was fined or sentenced to the workhouse that morning. The song had done more good than punishment could have accomplished. CHAPTER VII _The Music of Submerged Lives_ Hope is the great gift of Christianity. It pierces through the darkness and rejoices in the light beyond. It looks through the cloud and is assured that the sun is shining in the heavens. It insists on looking at the bright side even when it knows that there is a dark side. The English artist, George Frederick Watts, painted Hope as a blindfolded figure sitting on the top of a globe above a yawning abyss, playing upon a lyre with only one string, in harmony with the music of the Evangel, while in the distance a star is shining. Fanny Crosby, the blind hymn writer who died at the age of ninety-four, once said: “Hope’s star shines clearer on my pathway today than it did fifty years ago.” It is this same spirit of hope which Gilmour of Mongolia had when he declared that the future is as bright as the promises of God. So long as we are thus inspired we cannot be soured by cynicism, because we are sweetened by the confidence which insists that “the day must dawn and darksome night be past.” This is the triumph of lives handicapped by harsh circumstances but rising above what would submerge them because of their assurance that hope is the anchor of their soul, sure and steadfast. Here are some illustrations of this truth from unexpected quarters. A letter giving the impression of a radio service by Dr. S. Parkes Cadman tells how A Cripple Stood on Crutches The writer related that he was greatly stirred by the singing of “Stand up, stand up for Jesus! Ye soldiers of the cross.” He then added: “I have been on crutches for more than twelve years but today when you sang ‘Stand up for Jesus’ I got up from my bed and stood on crutches out of respect for the Master.” Another somewhat like the above is about the Song of the Man with the Wooden Leg