"Is it the Day you are dreading, or the Judge?
"Is it the sentence, or Him who will award it?
"Is it the Day, men and women of the world, which is to turn all your glory into dust? Is it the Day, beloved, which is to turn all your sorrow into joy?
"Of the Day I can tell you little.
"Of the Man I know a little, and will tell you what I know."
Then for a few minutes he took up another strain, and pictured the rending rocks, the trembling earth, the terror-stricken multitude, the shaking of all that seems most solid, the vanishing of all that seems most permanent.
His words recalled the terrors of the wandering monk, and when he paused for a minute the hush of awe-stricken expectation lay once more on all the throng.
But, as they gazed, hushed in terror, the tones which had been echoing through the aisles like the wail of wild winds, like the hollow vibrations of thunder among the hills or of the waves in a sea-cave, changed to tender human appeal.
He spoke of the Babe on the mother's knee; of the Child listening and learning in the Temple; of the hands that touched the leper; of the lips that spoke peace to the penitent sinner; of the pity, the justice, and the patience. And then, turning to the Crucifix, he said, "Beloved, if we wish, we may know Him better than we know those who dwell by our own hearths.
"If all the records of that holy life, of its gracious words and mighty deeds, could be blotted out and lost, I think we might know Him as we know no heart on earth only from His words as He hung there. His words, and His silence. Seven last words in three hours of silence.