I GO TO THE GARDEN _Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? Who talks of scheme and plan? The Lord is God! He needeth not The poor device of man._ _I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground Ye tread with boldness shod; I dare not fix with mete and bound The Love and Power of God._ _Ye praise His Justice; even such His pitying love I deem: Ye seek a King; I fain would touch The robe that hath no seam._ _Ye see the curse which overbroods A world of pain and loss; I hear our Lord’s Beatitudes His prayer upon the Cross._ —_John G. Whittier._ I GO TO THE GARDEN Light clouds hung over the city that Sunday morning when we looked out at the tower of David, one of the oldest monuments of Jerusalem, standing directly across the open space in front of our balcony. It still looks the part it long played as a watch-tower and a place of refuge and strong defense. The people call it the Citadel, and until the coming of the British it served as a garrison for Turkish soldiers. During our first days in Jerusalem we had walked about Mount Zion, had read of the various controversies waged over exact locations, had gone into the House of Caiaphas, the House of Annas, and had looked at the upper room. They may or may not have been the exact spots made tragic or sacred by that last week of the Great Life. It did not matter to us. The stone courtyards, the little chapels, the marks of Crusaders’ crosses, the burial stones made us conscious indeed of the triumphs and tragedies of men and nations that had written themselves from that hilltop into the history of Palestine and so into the making of the world. It was very easy, standing in that upper room, bare now save for an ancient picture, to imagine the long table, the couches, the reclining disciples. One is almost overwhelmed as he realizes the effect of that simple supper of bread and wine upon the characters of succeeding generations of men. What breaks in the ranks of Christendom the varied interpretations of its significance have made! To what heights of spiritual power, to what depths of shame, sorrow and repentance has it led those who, following His request, have celebrated it in remembrance of Him. In wonderful cathedrals, in rude chapels, in the lonely spots of earth, in the jungle, in the desert, on the islands of the sea, in the hospitals, in prison, on the fields of war kneeling before improvised altars within sight of the no man’s land which tomorrow would be their graves, men have heard the words: “As oft as ye eat this bread and drink this wine—”