Once in a Jewish synagogue I heard a rabbi read from the scroll of Isaiah a prophecy concerning the Messiah; that he was to be "wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities; that by his stripes we might be healed." It was predicted that when this Messiah came he should, bearing the world's burden of sin, go into the outer darkness in expiatory pain. Was it at this awful moment that he carried that burden into the region of the lost? Did he just then descend into hell for us? Hark! a cry from his fever-parched lips, piercing the silence and the darkness, "_Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?_ My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?" Save for that terrific cry of anguish the silence was unbroken for three mortal hours. I have known other victims of the cross to vent their rage in impotent wrath, to spit their hate like asps, to harangue the crowd with helpless protestations, or to beg for the death-stroke; but this Jesus preserved a majestic silence. The people also seemed wrapped in a weird terror. Naught was heard but the rattling of armor as some soldier jostled his comrade, or the sobbing of women or the dropping of blood. Thus until the ninth hour of the day. It was now the time of the evening sacrifice, and the darkness began slowly to lift. Then the Nazarene uttered his only word of complaint: "I thirst." Whereupon a strange thing happened. One of my soldiers, trained in the arena and in gladiatorial contests--a man who had never been known to spare a foe, delighting in the sack of cities, looking on unmoved when children were dashed against the stones--this man dipped a sponge in the sour wine which was provided for the guard, and would have raised it to the sufferer's lips. But the Jews cried out, "Let be, let be! Let us see if Eli will come to help him!" For a moment the soldier hesitated, even joined in the cry; then giving way to the more merciful promptings of his heart, lifted the sponge and assuaged the thirst of the dying man. It was the only deed of kindness I noted on Golgotha that day. In return for it the Nazarene cast upon his benefactor such a look of gratitude that he was ever after a different man. His nature seemed to be transformed by it. Then Jesus cried with a loud voice, "_Tetelestai!_ It is finished!" Did this signify that his pain was over? Well might he, after such anguish, utter a sigh of relief. Or was it that his mission was accomplished? So have I seen a laborer turn homeward from his day's work with pleasant anticipation of rest. So have I seen a wayfarer quicken his footsteps as, at eventide, he came in sight of the village lights. So have I seen a soldier, weary with the stress of conflict and wounded unto death, bear the standard aloft as he climbed the parapet and with his last voice shouted for victory!