“His influence grew upon me. I followed him from place to place; he took kindly notice of me. His gentle looks seemed to beckon me on; his wondrous miracles became convincing proofs of his divine mission; his merciful and consoling teachings entered deep into my soul, and left it glowing with awe and veneration. I felt that he was the Messiah promised by David; I knew it in my coward heart. And yet this world—this glittering, hollow sham—it was that which held me back and lured me to my own perdition. Many times I saw Jesus look upon me with a gaze that told of affection mingled with doubt and sorrow. For days I would absent myself from his side, only to return athirst and filled with new desires.
“One day, as he sat in the shade of a palm-tree with a few of his disciples, I threw myself at his feet and listened to the wisdom that fell from his lips.
“‘Master,’ I said at length, ‘what shall a man do to inherit eternal life?’
“‘Keep the commandments,’ he answered, fixing his eyes upon me as though he would read my soul.
“‘I have kept them from my youth,’ I replied.
“‘Then lackest thou yet one thing,’ he said. ‘Sell all thou hast, give thy treasure to the poor, and come, follow me.’
“The words were spoken—they had appealed to my heart for many days; Jesus loved me, he had singled me from the multitude of whom but little is required—he would have chosen me for a familiar disciple. I saw it in his eye; I heard it in his voice. He had called me to follow him! And I?…
“Before me there swept a vision of lost delights and despised honors. I saw myself hungry and cold, and naked and scorned; I heard the censure of the world, the altered tones of friends, the jibes and sneers of enemies. If I had dared once more to lift my eyes—if I had met that benignant glance, so full of affection and assurance—all would have been well, and the craven heart had never bled these sixty years for that one moment’s loss. But, alas! I cast down my eyes and bowed my head; I arose and went away sorrowful. That night I left Jerusalem and fled to Rome. I say fled, for I was like a criminal fleeing not from a tyrant but a kind and merciful father. My friend, to whom I had written faithfully of my interest in Jesus, passed and missed me on the way to Jerusalem.…”
Here the old man’s voice faltered and his frame shook with sobs. He seemed unconscious of all but his own sorrow as he continued:
“He learned to know Jesus—became a faithful disciple; he witnessed his capture and cruel trial; he followed him to Calvary; he saw the prodigies that occurred at his death; he saw him ascend into heaven. He enjoyed the sweet privilege of conversing with Mary; he received the dead body of Stephen the blessed martyr, and helped to give it decent burial, and his body lies to-day at the bottom of old Tiber—martyred for the faith of Christ; while I—coward that I was—awoke to the sense of my sin when it was too late to return and throw myself at his sacred feet, too late to touch the hem of his garment, too late to follow his bloody footsteps up the frightful Mount of Calvary. One expiation I thought to make—one atonement for my sin; for the poor sacrifice of my wealth was nothing to me. I sought martyrdom. In the public places, in the forum, by the side of dying Christians, at the graves of murdered saints. But I seemed to bear a charmed life. They passed me by, they did not molest me. He is harmless, said one; he is old, said another. And now, when I thought the goal within my reach, when I hoped that my expiation had been accepted, it is again denied me. Be it so, my God, my outraged and despised Saviour, be it so! I rejected thee—thou rejectest me. Thou didst die for me—thou wilt not suffer me to die for thee. Thy will be done!”