"If it is Thy will, O my Father!" he uttered aloud. "Thy will, not mine. If it be Thy will! Father, I am ready."
A faint gleam passed over the upturned face.
"I would not choose for myself. Only fulfil Thy will in me—glorify Thy Name. If Thou wiliest so to call me home—I am Thy servant,—Thy child."
Then a pause, and the head was bowed.
"Willing in heart, yet the flesh is weak. I cannot trust myself. Willing to go with Thee to death; yet, for Christ's sake, if possible, let this cup pass from me—if possible!"
Again he lifted his face.
"Father, I commend myself—spirit, soul, and body—into Thy hands. I am Thine. I desire only to have Thy will wrought in me, through me. I dare not choose. I am ready, Father,—ready, O my Lord and Master,—ready to do or bear Thy will, to know no will but Thine. I roll my burden upon Thee. Thou wilt comfort me."
And with a smile upon his pale lips, he passed upstairs to his bedroom, there to fall peacefully asleep, and to dream of the "Everlasting Arms."
[CHAPTER VI.]
SUNDAY MORNING.