But Prophetism was not to end in the Talmud. The Isaiahs and Jeremiahs were to have other heirs and successors than the Pharisees and the sons of the Synagogue. Prophetism had in it the promise and the germ of a higher and more human religion. The prophets had accents which their immediate successors in history seem never to have heard. They attacked nothing with more vehemence than formalistic piety or practical religion divorced from righteousness. Listen to Amos, as he makes Jehovah utter words like these: "I hate, I despise your feast days," etc. (Amos v. 21 _et seq._); or to Isaiah on the same theme in his first chapter. Hosea declares that heart-piety and mercy are better than sacrifices. Jeremiah predicts the time when God will make a new Covenant with His people, and write His laws in their hearts, instead of on tables of stone. Or think of Elijah in the cave of Horeb. Fatigued with fighting, almost in despair, the terrible adversary of Baal, who had just had 450 of the priests of Baal put to death, has retired to the mountains and is asleep in a cave. You know the narrative (1 Kings xix. 9-13). The still small voice! Is there in all the Bible a finer image containing a profounder thought? What is this supreme revelation of the God of Israel but an apparition by anticipation of the God of the Gospel? And the still, small voice, "the sound of gentle stillness," what is it but the first faint accents of the gracious, tender words: "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light" (Matt. xi. 28-30).