all the years of the pilgrimage). It is the voice of the God above the ladder, the Lord standing by the opened gates of glory and saying, "I will bring thee (I have brought thee) into this land, for I will not leave thee until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of!"

XIV.

The Making, and Waking
Exclamation.

"What He tells thee in the darkness,
Weary watcher for the day,
Grateful lip and life should utter
When the shadows flee away.

In the morning cometh singing,
Cometh joy and cometh sight,
When the sun ariseth, bringing
Healing on his wings of light."

F. R. Havergal.

"The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened toward the sun-rising: the name of the chamber was Peace. There he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang." --Pilgrim's Progress.

"Why sayest thou, O Jacob, and speakest, O Israel, My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is passed over from my God?" -ISAIAH xl. 27.

"When I awake, I am still with Thee."-Ps. cxxxix. 18.

“And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said, Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not. And he was afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”—GEN. xxviii. 16, 17.

THE WAKING, AND WAKING

EXCLAMATION.

THIS is an interesting transition and turningpoint in our sacred eclogue.

Among the group of Biblical illustrations in the Memorial chapel at Windsor, which magnificently enshrines and illustrates the virtues of England's departed Prince, is included that of the Patriarch and his dreamland. The point of time, however, selected, differs from the usual treatment. It is not, as generally, from that of Raphael downwards, when the wayfarer lies fast asleep on his pillow of stone, with angels over his head. The artist has chosen rather the moment which we have now reached—viz., when, waking from his sleep, he looks wistfully and hopefully upon the clear heaven, as if in the act of uttering the exclamation which precedes this chapter.

We can picture and realise the scene: the tender light of a Palestine morning when the sun was just purpling the sky above the sombre wall of Moab: the dew lying thickly on the grass and furze around him the last of the night-stars just vanishing from

the sky, and the last of the night-breezes fanning his brow.

"The dawn-the dawn has died away,

And east and west, without a breath,
Mixt their dim lights, like life and death,
To broaden into boundless day."*

He starts from his pillow; and with no eye or thought for the unfamiliar landscape around, the one fresh memory, or rather the present vivid and overpowering impression, inspires the first words which break upon the solitude-" Surely the Lord is in this place!" "I laid me down last night, lonely and joyless, sad and fearful. I saw no friendly form, I heard no friendly voice. Bleak heath and desert-stones appeared to be my sole dumb companions. But I am conscious now that I had Divine watchers. Methought the God of my fathers had only His special consecrated haunts and His saintly favourites; that, though condescending to reveal Himself by the tent and the altar, He never would have deigned to own common-ground like this, on which I sought repose for my weary body! But "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I knew it not." "This place!" I supposed it only the rough couch of a wayfarer: lo! I find it haunted by Angels, as if Eden were spread out around me, and the God of early Paradise talked with me. "This

* In Memoriam.