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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029282014 
 

 
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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, 
 
 BY BAKER & SCEIBNER, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States 
 " for the Southern District of New York. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY THUxMas H. siMITH, 
 5Ifi W1LT,1\M HTHEKT. SKW YORK- 
 
 E. O. Jti. kills, Printer. 
 
To 
 
 MY AGED BELOVED FATHER, 
 
 WHO HAS LONG STOOD ON THE HEIGHTS OF ZION 
 
 A MESSENGER OF PEACE 
 
 AND HERALD OF GOOD TIDINGS TO MEN, 
 
 AND WHOSE FEET I KNOW 
 
 WILL SOON STAND ON THE "MOUNT OF GOD," 
 
 THESE SKETCHES 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The design of the following sketches is to ren- 
 der more familiar and life-like some of the scenes 
 of the Bible. This, I know, is a difficult task, not 
 only from the disposition of men to look at things 
 sacred less naturally than on the common events 
 of life, but from the inability of the writer to find 
 words that shall bring the scenes he would de- 
 scribe, home to the feelings, without shocking his 
 own and the reader's sensibilities by too familiar 
 phrases. Yet, unless they cease to become distant 
 visions to us, we shall never appreciate the displays 
 which God has made of himself to man. The 
 Bible is a book of general principles and outline 
 sketches. To elevate and extend to their full ap- 
 plication the former, has been the work of the reli- 
 gious teacher from the time of Christ till now — 
 while the filling up of the latter, has been neglected 
 as impossible or useless. But God has not given 
 us those few bold outlines of the most thrilling 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 scenes in human history, to have them never com- 
 pleted. Ill my descriptions, I have endeavored to 
 shun all those things which might be termed mere 
 creations of the fancy, and have confined myself, 
 either to the Bible itself, or to those incidents, vphich 
 must have occurred, taking human nature to be the 
 same in all ages of the w^orld. 
 
 There is one mountain in the list, about which 
 there has been much dispute among writers — 1 
 mean Mount Tabor. Every mountain has been 
 more or less the subject of discussion, because its 
 precise locality depends entirely upon tradition. 
 I'he present Ararat may, or may not, be the Ararat ■ 
 on which the ark rested ; yet, tradition says it is, 
 and we believe tradition. Neither Sinai or Horeb ' 
 is so precisely located by the Bible as to furnish no 
 grounds for dispute ; and Moriah and Zion have 
 been shifted from spot to spot, to meet the views of 
 travellers. Mount Tabor especially has excited 
 their incredulity, and it is declared impossible that 
 it should be the mount of transfiguration. And 
 yet, at the bottom of all the learning and research 
 expended on this subject, I can find but two reasons 
 against the common belief. One is, that tradition 
 alone declares it to be the mount of transfigura- 
 tion. But this objection is groundless, or we must 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 give up also the localities of the other mountains, 
 mentioned in the Bible. Ararat itself must cease 
 to be a witness for the deluge. The other reason 
 is, that Mount Tabor was a fortress, and hence 
 could not be chosen by Christ for such an exhibition 
 of himself to the disciples. In the first place, 
 granting the fact, I do not see the force of the 
 argument. Why a mountain, several miles in 
 circumference at the top, could not furnish a re- 
 moved situation for such a scene, it is difficult 
 to say. If the proximity of n en were an objection, 
 one would think that Christ would not have chosen 
 Gethsemane as the place of his agony. But there 
 is no evidence that Tabor, at that time, was occu- 
 pied as a fortress. Almost from time immemorial, 
 the great plain of Esdraelon had been the meeting- 
 spot of armies, and Tabor furnished a stronghold 
 for whichever party could occupy it. But in times 
 of peace it was often neglected ; and that it was in 
 this ruinous state at the period of Christ's transfig- 
 uration, is evident from the repairs that were made, 
 and the walls that were built at the commencement 
 of the after-wars between Rome and Jerusalem. 
 At least, there is no other mountain in all this re- 
 gion answering so perfectly to the description — " an 
 
 exceeding high mountain apart." 
 
 1* 
 
via PREFACE. 
 
 The plates are accurate drawings of these moun- 
 tains, as they now appear, with the exception, that 
 from some of them, mosques have been removed, 
 so as to give them their original form. 
 
 As Christ is the beginning and end of all these 
 wonderful displays of divine power, the Star of 
 Bethlehem has been chosen as first in the list of 
 engravings. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 xMOUNT ARARAT, 
 
 PagD 
 The Mountains of the Bible.— Description of the Flood.— After 
 the Deluge 13 
 
 MOUNT MORIAH. 
 
 Journey of Abraham. — ^The Scene on the Mountain 29 
 
 MOUNT SINAI. 
 
 Terrific Scenery amid which the Law was given. — Slaughter of 
 Three Thousand of the Children of Israel 41 
 
 MOUNT HOR. 
 
 Character of Aaron. — Mournful scene on ite top at the Death of 
 Aaron in the presence of his Son and Moses 55 
 
 MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 Character of Moses. — His touching Farewell to the People. — His 
 lonely ascent to the Mountain. — The Prospect spread out be- 
 fore him. — His Death 67 
 
 MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 Elijah's Flight and Despondency. — God's fearful exhibition of 
 himself in the Whirlwind, Earthquake, and Storm of Fire. — 
 The still small Voice W 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 Page 
 Elijah's boldness. — Gathering of the People to Mount Carmel. 
 Trial between Elijah and the Prophets of Baal. — Elijah's 
 Prayer and the answer by Fire. — His Prayer for Rain and the 
 sudden Storm 91 
 
 MOUNT LEBANON. 
 
 Its Appearance and Beauty. — Its Cedars. — Its use by the Pro- 
 phets and Poets of Israel to illustrate the Beauty and Glory 
 of the Church 109 
 
 MOUNT ZION. 
 
 The touching Associations connected with the Name. — It stands 
 for Jerusalem — for the Church. — The Love of the Israelites 
 for Mount Zion. — The Captives in Babylon. — Last Sacking 
 and Overthrow of the City 118 
 
 MOUNT TABOR. 
 
 The strange Contrasts this Earth presents. — Battle of Mount 
 Tabor fought by Kleber. — View from the Top. — Transfigura 
 tion of Christ 132 
 
 MOUNT OF OLIVES. 
 
 Agony of Christ. — His Seizure and the rough treatment of Him 
 by the Soldiers 145 
 
 MOUNT CALVARY. 
 
 The Crucifixion Scene. — Moral Grandeur of the Atonement 156 
 
 THE MOUNT OF GOD. 
 
 Glorious Vision of John in the Isle of Patmos. — The one hun- 
 dred and forty-four thousand Harpers 168 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY BUBT, 
 
 Subjects. 
 Mount Ararat, 
 
 Vignette— Bethlehem, 
 Mount Moriah, 
 Mount Sinai, 
 Mount Hor, 
 Mount Pisgah, 
 Mount Carmel, 
 Mount Lebanon, 
 Mount Zion, 
 Mount Tabor, 
 Mount of Olives, 
 
 Painters. 
 
 Page 
 
 Calcot, 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 
 Title 
 
 Turner, 
 
 'is 
 
 
 41 
 
 Harding, 
 
 55 
 
 Turner, 
 
 67 
 
 Bartlett, 
 
 91 
 
 Harding, 
 
 109 
 
 Balmar, 
 
 118 
 
 Harding 
 
 132 
 
 11 
 
 145 
 
There are some mountains standing on 
 <his sphere of ours that seem almost con- 
 scious beings, and if they would but speak, 
 and tell what they have seen and felt, the 
 traveller who pauses at their base would 
 tremble with awe and alarm. 
 A^^ For some good reason, the Deity has usu- 
 ally chosen mountain summits, and those 
 which are isolated, as the theatre on which 
 to make the grandest exhibitions of himself 
 It may be because those grand and striking 
 features in nature fix the locality of events 
 so that they never can fade from the memory 
 of man. The giving of the law needs no 
 
14 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 lofty column of stone to commemorate it. 
 Mount Sinai lifts its awful form towards the 
 clouds, a perpetual unwasting monument. 
 God's exhibition of himself to the awe-struck 
 prophet, as he passed by him heralded by 
 the storm, the earthquake and the flame, 
 needs no pyramid to consecrate the spot. 
 Mount Horeb tells where the Almighty dim- 
 med his glory and covered the human face with 
 his fearful hand, so that his brightness might 
 not destroy the being who would gaze on him. 
 The transfiguration of the God-man requires 
 no pillar of brass to arrest the eye and aid the 
 senses as man contemplates the place where 
 the wondrous scene transpired ; Mount Tabor 
 is its everlasting memorial. Thus do moun- 
 tain summits stand the silent yet most elo- 
 quent historians of heaven and earth. 
 
 Another reason why mountains have been 
 chosen by the Deity for his most solemn rev- 
 elations, may be that their solitude and far 
 removal from human interruption and the 
 sounds of busy life, render them better fitted 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 15 
 
 for such communications than the plain and 
 the city. 
 
 The first in the list of Sacred Mountains 
 is Mount Ararat. The first named summit 
 in human history, it emerges from the flood 
 and lifts its head over the water to look down 
 on all coming generations to the end of time. 
 Whether it was changed in that mighty con- 
 vulsion which drowned the world, or wheth- 
 er its lofty peak which saw the swelling wa- 
 ters and marked their steady rise remained 
 the same, we know not. At all events, the 
 mountain looked down on the swaying world 
 at its feet, as cities floated from their founda- 
 tions and came dashing against its sides, and 
 beheld a wilder scene than ever covered a 
 battle-field, as it heard and saw six genera- 
 tions shriek and sink together. But what- 
 ever may have been its /ormer history, it now 
 stands as the only memorial of the flood. Ri- 
 sing like a sugar-loaf from a chaos of peaks, 
 which gleam and glitter in the sun-beams 
 that are reflected from their snowy sides — 
 
1) SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 overlooking a sea pn one side and a desert on 
 the other, it is a grand and striking object in 
 itself, but made still more so by the associa- 
 tions that cluster around its sacred top. It 
 has seldom been profaned by human feet, but 
 there was a time when the sea rolled over it, 
 and mightier waves than ever yet swept the 
 sea thundered high above its crown. 
 
 Though the immediate appearance of a 
 flood that should submerge the world was 
 an event that staggered human belief, yet 
 Noah, obedient to the voice of Heaven, be- 
 gan his ark of safety. There is no one who 
 does not lament that there is not a fuller an- 
 tediluvian history. We merely catch the 
 summits of events, and are told of some half 
 a dozen things that happened, while all the 
 rest is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. 
 We are told that the world was drowned, 
 but the particulars of that terrific scene are 
 left entirely to the imagination. It is only 
 by the declaration of our Lrod, that men 
 were busy at their usual occupations, " eat- 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 17 
 
 ing and drinking, and marrying and giving in 
 marriage, till the flood came and swept them 
 all away," that we get any data by which 
 we can form any true conception of the ca- 
 tastrophe. Yet this short statement is worth 
 every thing, and with it before me, I have 
 sometimes thought I could almost paint the 
 scene. Noah, whose head was whitened by 
 the frosts of six centuries, laid the foundation 
 of his huge vessel on a pleasant day, when 
 all was serene and tranquil. The fields were 
 smiling in verdure before his eyes ; the per- 
 fumed breezes floated by, and the music of 
 birds and sounds of busy life were about him, 
 when he, by faith alone, laid the first beam 
 of that structure, which was to sail over a 
 buried planet. When men, on enquiring the 
 design of that huge edifice, w^ere told its pur- 
 pose, they could hardly credit their senses, 
 and Noah, though accounted by all a very 
 upright and respectable man, became a jest 
 for children. As the farmer returned at even- 
 ing from the fields, and the gay citizen of 
 
18 
 
 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 the town drove past, they christened it 
 " Noah's folly." Tliose more aged and sober 
 shook their heads wisely, saying, " The old 
 man is mad." Even the workmen engaged 
 upon it laughed as they drove the nails and 
 hewed the plank, yet declared they cared 
 not as long as the foolish old man was able 
 to pay. Still the ark went up, and .the day's 
 wonder ceased to be talked about. When it 
 was finished, and curiosity satisfied, it was 
 dismissed from the mind as a passing folly. 
 
 Yet I have sometimes wondered what peo- 
 ple thought when they saw the beasts of the 
 field and the forest, and fowls of the air, even 
 the venomous serpent and the strong-limbed 
 lion coming in pairs to that ark. This must 
 have staggered them amazingly, and made the 
 ark for a while a fresh topic of conversation. 
 
 At length, the patriarch with his family 
 entered — the door was shut in the face of 
 the world, and he sat down on the strength 
 of a single promise to await the issue. That 
 night the sun went down over the green hills 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 19 
 
 beautiful as ever, and the stars came out in 
 the blue sky, and nature breathed long atid 
 peacefully. In the morning the sun rose in 
 undimmed splendor and mounted the heav- 
 ens. Deep within the vast building Noah 
 could hear the muffled sound of life witho.it. 
 The lowing of herds came on his ear, and 
 the song of the husbandman going to his ;oil, 
 and the rapid roll of carriage wheels as they 
 hurried past, and perhaps the ribald shout 
 and laugh of those who expended their wit 
 on him and his ark together. To say noth- 
 ing of the improbability of a universal deluge, 
 the idea was preposterous that such a helm- 
 less, helpless affair could outride a wrecked 
 world. Thus day after day passed on until 
 a week had gone by, but still the faith of 
 that old man never shook. At length the 
 sky became overcast, and the gentle rain de- 
 scended — to Noah the beginning of the flood, 
 to the world a welcome shower. The far- 
 mer, as he housed his cattle, rejoiced in the 
 refreshing moisture, while the city never 
 
20 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 checked its gaiety, or the man of wealth his 
 plans. But as the rain continued day after 
 day, and fell faster and fiercer on the drenchr 
 ed earth, and the swollen streams went surg- 
 ing by, men cursed the storm that seemed 
 determined never to break up. The low- 
 lands were deluged ; the streams broke over 
 their banks, bearing houses and cattle away 
 on their maddened bosoms. Wealth was 
 destroyed and lives lost, till men talked of 
 ruined fortunes, famine and general desola- 
 tion ; but still it rained on. Week after 
 week it came pouring from the clouds, till it 
 was like one falling sheet of water, and the 
 inhabitants could no longer stir from their 
 doors. The rich valleys that lay along the 
 rivers were flooded, and the peasants sought 
 the eminences around for safety. Yet still 
 the water rose around them, till all through 
 the valleys nothing but little black islands 
 of human beings were seen on the surface. 
 Oh, then what fierce struggles there were for 
 life among them. The mother lifted her in- 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 21 
 
 fant above her head, while she strove to 
 maintain her uncertain footing in the sweep- 
 ing waters ; the strong crowded off the weak 
 as each sought the highest point ; while the 
 living mass slowly crumbled away till the 
 last disappeared and the swift water swept 
 smooth and noiselessly above them all. Men 
 were heard talking of the number of lives 
 lost and the amount of wealth destroyed, de- 
 claring that such a flood had not happened 
 in the remembrance of the oldest man. No 
 one yet dreamed of the high grounds being 
 covered, least of all the mountains. To 
 drown the world it must rain till the ocean 
 itself was filled above its level for miles, and 
 so men feared it not, and sought for amuse- 
 ment within doors till the storm should 
 abate. Oh, what scenes of vice and shame 
 and brutality and revelry did that storm wit- 
 ness in the thronged city, and what unhal- 
 lowed songs mingled in the pauses of the 
 blast that swept by. 
 
 But at length another sound was heard 
 
22 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 that sent paleness to every clieek, and chain- 
 ed every tongue in mute terror. It was a 
 far distant roar, faint but fearful, yet sound- 
 ins; more distinct and ominous every mo- 
 ment, till it filled all the air. The earth 
 trembled and groaned under it as if an earth- 
 quake was on its march, and ever and anon 
 came a crash as if the " ribs of nature" were 
 breaking. Nearer and louder and more ter- 
 rible it grew, till men forgetting alike their 
 pleasure and their anger, rushed out in the 
 storm, whispering, " The flood ! the flood" — 
 and lo, a new sea, the like of which no man 
 had ever seen before, came rolling over the 
 crouching earth. Stretching from horizon 
 to horizon, as far as the eye could reach, — 
 losing itself like a limitless wall in the clouds 
 above, it came pouring its green and massive 
 waters onward, while the continual and 
 rapid crash of falling forests and crushed 
 cities and uptorn mountains, that fell one af- 
 ter another under its awful footsteps, and the 
 successive shrieks that pierced the heavens, 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 23 
 
 rising even above the deafening roar of the 
 on-rushing ocean, as city after city and king- 
 dom after liingdom disappeared, made a 
 scene of terror and horror inconceivable, in- 
 describable. " The fountains of the great 
 deep were broken up." 
 
 But the last cry of human agony was at 
 length hushed — ocean met ocean in its flow, 
 and the waves swept on without a shore. 
 Oh, what a wreck was there ! the wreck of 
 two thousand years, with their cities, culti- 
 vated fields and mighty population. Not 
 shivered masts and broken timbers, the re- 
 mains of some gallant vessel, were seen on 
 that turbulent surface, but the fragments of 
 a crushed and broken world. It was a no- 
 ble wreck — splendid cities and towers, gor- 
 geous palaces, gay apparel, the accumulated 
 wealth and luxury of twenty centuries strew- 
 ing the bosom of the deluge, like autumn 
 leaves the surface of some forest stream. 
 
 But amid the sudden midnight that had 
 wraoped the earth, and the frenzy of the 
 
24 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 elements and utter overthrow and chaos of 
 all things, there was one heart that beat as 
 calmly as in sleep : one brow over which no 
 breath of passion or of fear passed: one 
 spirit whose serene trust never shook : for 
 in the solitary ark that lifted to the heaving 
 billows, the aged patriarch knelt in prayer. 
 Amid the surging of that fierce ocean his 
 voice may not have been heard by mortal 
 ear, but the light of faith shone round his 
 aged form, and the moving lip spoke a re- 
 pose as tranquil as childhood's on the bosom 
 of maternal love. The patriarch's God ruled 
 that wild scene and Noah felt his frail vessel 
 quiver in every timber, without one tremor 
 himself Upborne on the flood, the heaven- 
 protected ark rose over the buried cities and 
 mountains, and floated away on a shoreless 
 deep. Like a single drop of dew this round 
 sphere of ours hung and trembled — a globe 
 of water in mid-heaven. I have often won- 
 dered what the conversations were during 
 the long days and nights that lonely ark was 
 
MOUNT ARARAT. 25 
 
 riding on the deep. As it rose and fell on 
 the long-protracted swell, massive ruins 
 would- go thundering by, whole forests sink 
 and rise with the billows, while ever and 
 anon an up torn hill, as borne along by the 
 resistless tide it struck a buried mountain, 
 would loom for a moment like some black 
 monster over the waves, then plunge again 
 to the fathomless bottom. Amid this wreck 
 and these sights, the ark sailed on in safety. 
 How often in imagination have I pictured it 
 in the deluge at midnight. To a spectator 
 what an object of interest it would have 
 been. Round the wide earth the light from 
 its solitary w^indow was the only indication 
 of life that remained. One moment it would 
 be seen far up on the crest of the biUow, a 
 mere speck of flame amid the limitless dark- 
 ness that environed it, and then disappear 
 in the gulfs below as if extinguished forever. 
 Thus that gentle light would sink and rise 
 on the breast of the deluge, the last, the only 
 
 hope of the human race. Helmless, and ap- 
 3 
 
26 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 parently guideless, its wreck seemed inevita- 
 ble, but the sea never rolled that could ex- 
 tinguish the star-like beam that told where 
 the ark still floated. Not even the strong 
 wind that the Almighty sent over the water 
 to dry it up, driving it into billows that 
 stormed the heavens, could sink it. Though 
 it shook like a reed in their strong grasp, and 
 floundered through the deep gulfs, it passed 
 unerringly on to the summit of that moun- 
 tain on which it was to rest ; and at length 
 struck ground and ceased its turbulent mo- 
 tion. 
 
 Noah waited a week, and then sent forth 
 a raven to explore the deep. Though the 
 waters still swept from mountain to moun- 
 tain, the myriad carcasses that floated on 
 the surface furnished both food and resting 
 place, and he returned no more. He then 
 sent forth a dove. It darted away from the 
 place of its long confinement, and sped on 
 rapid wing over the flood, now tvu-ning this 
 way and now that, looking in vain with its 
 
MOUNTARARAT. 27 
 
 gentle eye for the green earth, and at last 
 turned back towards the ark of rest. The 
 tap of its snowy wing was heard on the 
 window, and the patriarch reached forth his 
 hand and took it in. The fierce pantings of 
 its mottled breast, and its drooping pinions, 
 told too well that the earth gave no place of 
 repose. But the second time it was sent 
 abroad it returned with an olive leaf in its 
 mouth, showing that the earth had risen 
 from its burial and was sprouting again in 
 verdure. Then the patriarch went forth 
 with his family and stood on Mount Ararat, 
 and lo, the earth was at his feet, but how 
 changed. Cut into gorges which showed 
 where the strong currents swept, and piled 
 into ridges, it bore in every part marks of 
 the power that had ravaged it. Noah and 
 his family were alone in the world, and he 
 built an altar there on the top of the solitary 
 mountain, and lifted his voice in prayer, and 
 the Almighty talked with him as " friend 
 talketh with friend," bidding him go forth 
 
28 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 and occupy the earth. And as the flame of 
 the sacrifice rose from the mountain top 
 bearing the patriarch's prayer heavenward, 
 the promise was given that the earth should 
 never again be swept by a deluge, and lo, 
 God's signet ring appeared in the clouds, 
 arching the man of God, and shown as a 
 warrant that the covenant should never be 
 broken. 
 
 Baptized by the flood — consecrated by the 
 altar — illumined by the first fresh rainbow. 
 Mount Ararat stood a sacred mountain on 
 the earths 
 
Mount Mori ah stands just without Jeru- 
 salem and is now crowned with the mosque 
 of St. Omar, whose entrance has long been 
 forbidden to the Christian, and kept sacred 
 for the foUow'ers of Mahomet. It stands 
 where the rude altar of Abraham rose nearly 
 four thousand years ago. T'he proud city 
 has risen and fallen besiae it, the genera- 
 tions of men come and gone, and whole 
 dynasties of kings disappeared one after 
 another, yet there it stands as it stood in 
 the wilderness when it was trodden only 
 by the wild beast of the forest. 
 
 The sacrifice of Abraham which conse- 
 crated Mount Moriah is to me one of the 
 
30 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 most touching events in human history. I 
 can never read over the unostentatious, brief 
 account given in the Bible without the pro- 
 foundest emotions. Knowing that parental 
 feeling and human nature are the same in 
 all ages, my imagination immediately fills up 
 the sketch in all its thrilling details. The 
 shock of the announcement by God — the 
 farewell with Sarah — the three days' lonely 
 journey — the unconscious playfulness of 
 Isaac on the way, and the stern struggle of 
 the father's heart to master its emotions, all 
 rise before me, and I seem to hold mv breath 
 in suspense till the voice of the angel breaks 
 the painful spell and the uplifted knife is 
 stayed. 
 
 Abraham had long wished and prayed for 
 a son who should inherit his property — bear 
 up his name and transmit it to posterity, 
 until it had become the absorbing thought 
 of his life. Isaac was the child of his old 
 age — his only son — the single link on which 
 every thing rested, and in him were gar- 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 31 
 
 nered all the love and hopes of his noble 
 heart. But if he was an object of such in- 
 tense affection and priceless worth to Abra- 
 ham, what must he have been to Sarah '.' 
 Oh, who can tell with what absorbing love, 
 what inexpressible fondness, the mother 
 bowed over his cradle and watched his 
 growing strengtli. Isaac !— that name was 
 to her the embodiment of every thing beau- 
 tiful and lovely, and his clear laugh never 
 rung out on the morning air without sending 
 a thrill through her bosom almost painful 
 from its intense delight. His voice without 
 the tent would arrest her in the midst of any 
 occupation, and there was no world where 
 her boy was not. But this beautiful scion 
 was to be cut oflF— this bright young being 
 slain, and the father's hand was to do the 
 deed. So came the command from heaven ; 
 and the bolt that then and. there crushed 
 through Abraham's heart none but God saw 
 enter. "Take now thy son, thy onhj son 
 
32 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Isaac whom thou lovest,* and get thee into 
 the land of Moriah and oifer him there 
 for a burnt-offering on one of the moun- 
 tains I shall tell thee of" The lightning 
 had fallen and the aged tree was struck 
 though not shattered. The patriarch's fear 
 had come upon him, and he turned to his 
 tent that night witli a cloud on his soul the 
 light of faith could scarcely pierce. The 
 voice of his son which had heretofore made 
 his heart leap for joy, now sent a pang 
 through it as if it were the last cry of suffer- 
 ing rather than the call of affection. No 
 sleep visited his eyes that night, yet he kept 
 the fearful tidings to himself and summoned 
 all his energies to meet the terrible trial that 
 awaited him. What ! tell the mother that 
 her boy was to be slain and the father to do 
 the deed — that the lamb of her bosom and 
 
 * I know that some commentators vaake Isaac at this time 
 a young man, instead of a child. Whether it is so or not, or 
 whether even the age of twenty-five in that period of longevity 
 was not as young as thirteen now, I shall not discuss. It is 
 enough for me that the Bible calls him " the lad." 
 
MOUNT MORI AH. 33 
 
 the only joy of her heart was to be gashed 
 and marred by the cruel knife and his body 
 burned on a far desolate mountain ! that he 
 was to come back no more — his voice to 
 cheer her loneliness no more, but his ashes 
 to be scattered over the bleak hill-side by 
 the winds of heaven ! Oh no ! the burden 
 was heavy enough already, without taking 
 upon himself the mother's grief Beside, that 
 boy could never leave the tent in the morn- 
 ing unconscious of his approaching fate, if 
 the mother's farewell was to be a last one 
 That fatal leave-taking would be a double 
 sacrifice and before the time. 
 
 The morning broke clear and beautiful — 
 the asses were saddled and all was ready 
 for departure ; yet still Isaac lingered in the 
 tent, covered with the fond caresses of his 
 mother. To part with him a week seemed 
 like losing him an age. But at length she 
 led him forth to the door of the tent, and im- 
 printing a last kiss on his bright young fore- 
 head, bade him go. As Abraham saw him 
 
31 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 approach with half a smile and half a tear 
 on his face, he thought of his own return 
 without him, and the mute despair and 
 crushing agony that would meet him when 
 he should stand speechless and desolate 
 before his wife. Who could answer her in- 
 quiries 1 who still her piercing cries for Isaac 
 her only son? All these thoughts rushed 
 over the patriarch's heart bearing him to the 
 earth, yet his firm soul never betrayed his 
 emotions, and he turned away to meet the 
 struggle before him without faltering or de- 
 lay. His terit disappeared in the distance, 
 and the last object visible on the plain was 
 the form of Sarah watching them from afar. 
 For three weary days did Abraham journey 
 on, pressed with a single thought, crushed 
 by one over-mastering sorrow, and yet with- 
 out a heart to sympathize with him. Isaac, 
 on whose pure spirit young hopes lay like 
 morning dew-drops — to whom life was fresh, 
 joyous and radiant, and the earth belted 
 with rainbows — talked ceaselessly of the 
 
MOUNTMORIAH. 35 
 
 new objects and scenes that passed before 
 them. But his delights, his innocent enjoy- 
 ment, brought only a deeper shade on Abra- 
 ham's brow, and, if he smiled to please his 
 child, it was a smile more painful to behold 
 than his look of sadness. Each answer to 
 his inquiries seemed a heartless deception, 
 and the weary hours a mere prolongation of 
 the mockery of his young affections and de- 
 sires and joys. And when that son pillowed 
 his head on his bosom at night, and Abra- 
 ham too desolate to sleep, listened to his calm 
 breathings, methinks his purpose to slay 
 him almost faltered ; and, when the morning 
 broke over the landscape, and he watch- 
 ed him still in beauty by his side, the task 
 required of him seemed too great for human 
 strength. But the darker the hour grew, 
 and the more fixed the irrevocable decree, 
 the heavier he leaned on the Omnipotent 
 arm. 
 
 After three days' toilsome travel, the 
 mountain at length rose before them, and 
 
36 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Abraham bidding his servants wait his re- 
 turn, took his son and began to ascend its 
 rugged sides. Like the great antitype who 
 bore his own cross up Calvar)^, Isaac carried 
 the wood for the burnt-oflfering on his 
 shoulders, wiiile Abraham took the fire and 
 knife in his hand. " So they went both of 
 them together." It requires no vivid imagi- 
 nation to fill up this scene, so slightly 
 sketched in the Bible. Human nature is 
 the same the world over, and as the hour 
 of stern trial approached, Abraham became 
 silent and sad. The fire and knife in his 
 hand, caused him to shudder, for they made 
 what had before been a vision, a passing 
 fact, and he started as the blade glittered in 
 the sunlight, as if he already saw it quivering 
 in his son's bosom. But Isaac, unconscious 
 of the fate before him, continued to talk with 
 all the gaiety and carelessness of boyhood, 
 until, at length, sobered by his father's stern 
 aspect, and the toil of the way together, he 
 too grew silent. As his buoyant spirits sub- 
 
MOUNT MORIAH. 37 
 
 sided, his thougiits naturally turned upon 
 the solemn event that seemed so to absorb 
 and subdue his father. Suddenly it flashed 
 over him that there was no lamb for the of- 
 fering, and, thinking it must have been for- 
 gotten, he turned to his father with an 
 awakened, enquiring look, and exclaimed, 
 " Father, father !" " What, my son," was 
 the half absent reply. " Behold the wood 
 and the fire, but where is the lamb for the 
 oflFering ?" Oh, who can tell the pang that 
 question shot through the father's heart. 
 The tone, the look all showed the very soul 
 of confidence and love, and Abraham stag- 
 gered under the sudden gush of feeling as if 
 smitten by a blow. But pressing down by 
 a strong effort the emotions that suffocated 
 him, he replied in a faint and tremulous 
 voice : " My son, God will provide himself a 
 lamb for a burnt-offering." This satisfied 
 him, and he lapsed again into silence, though 
 his youthful heart began to tremble before a 
 vague undefined fear of some coming evil. 
 
38 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 The mountain breeze as it swept by, had a 
 mournful sound — not a Uving thing disturbed 
 the solitude, and " so they went both of 
 them together." But when Isaac saw his 
 father begin to bind him, as he had often 
 seen him bind the lamb for sacrifice, and the 
 terrible truth at length flashed on his mind 
 that he was to be slain, who caii tell the 
 consternation of his young heart ! Oh, who 
 can tell the pleading looks and still more 
 pleading language, and tears with which he 
 prayed his father to spare him ! And who 
 can tell the anguish of that paternal heart as 
 it met each sob and agonizing cry with the 
 stern language, " My son, God has chosen 
 thee as the lamb for the burnt-offering." 
 Methinks, as fear gradually yielded to filial 
 obedience, and to the command of heaven, 
 and the moving words, "m?/ mother, my 
 mother,^' died away in indistinct murmurs, 
 that Isaac did not close his eyes against 
 the fatal blow, but opened them instinc- 
 tively on his father, his only help in that 
 
MOUNTMORIAH. 39 
 
 fearful hour, and still watched the glitter- 
 ing blade as it quivered like a serpent's 
 tongue above his bosom, for it was his father 
 who was about to strike. But oh, who 
 nerved the parent's heart in that terrible 
 moment? As his hand plit back the clus- 
 tering ringlets from that fair young forehead, 
 and his glance pierced the depth of those 
 eyes fixed so lovingly yet despairingly on 
 him, who gave steadiness to his arm, and 
 strength to his will, as he bent to the fatal 
 stroke 1 He who cried, " Abraham, Abra- 
 ham ! spare thy son ; Lay not thy hand 
 upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto 
 him, for now I know that thou fearest God, 
 seeing that thou hast not' withheld thy son, 
 thine only son from me." Faith was trium- 
 phant — the gold had been tried and found 
 pure, the father tasked to the uttermost and 
 stood, and lo, Isaac bounded from the altar, 
 in aU the joy of recovered freedom, and fell 
 on his father's neck in passionate tears. 
 Oh, did ever father and son bend in such 
 
40 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 overwhelming gratitude before an altar as 
 they, or did the smoke of sacrifice ever go 
 up over two more devoted hearts than then 
 and there went up from the top of Moriah. 
 Faith sublime, unequalled holy faith, conse- 
 crated that mountain forever. 
 
 Years afterward the temple of Solomon 
 threw the sunbeams upon it, and the chil- 
 dren of Israel paid their vows there, but it 
 has no memorial like that of the offering up 
 of Isaac. 
 
MO 
 
 Standing in the midst of some of the most 
 desolate scenery in the world, Mount Sinai 
 lifts its huge form into the heavens, like some 
 monster slumbering in conscious strength. 
 Its bald and naked summit — its barren and 
 rocky sides, and all its sombre features, cor- 
 respond perfectly to the surrounding scene. 
 It is a wild and desolate spot, and were 
 there even no associations connected with it, 
 the loneliness and gloom that surround it 
 would arrest the traveller, and cause him to 
 shudder as he pitched his tent under its 
 shadow. But Mount Sinai has associations 
 that render it chief among the Sacred Moun- 
 tains. The moral, the divine instructions 
 4* 
 
42 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 given to man from its summit, are of course 
 the things of chief importance, but as these 
 are always wholly dwelt upon, I speak only 
 of the outward scenes amid which they were 
 imparted. Nor is this without its use ; for 
 we, half the time, lose the freshness, I might 
 say the naturalness, of much that is said in 
 the Bible, by involving it in a sort of super- 
 natural indefiniteness. We remove the per- 
 sons and the objects, and in doing it lose the 
 power which familiar scenes always have 
 over the mind. There can be a no more 
 striking illustration of this truth than in the 
 different effects produced on a congregation 
 by the different manner in which some de- 
 scriptive scene in the Bible is read. One 
 will read in a strained, monotonous voice, as 
 if naturalness betokened too great familiarity 
 with sacred things, and is astonished that 
 men care so little for the reading of the 
 Scriptures. Another, as if he himself were 
 narrating the facts for the first time, and 
 every eye and ear is fixed. If the crucifixion 
 
MOUNTSINAI. 43 
 
 r^ould be made definite as a common murder 
 scene, and the agony in tlie garden^ as fa- 
 miliar as the throes and torture of a friend 
 in the extremes! agony of human nature, 
 they would not, they could not, be read with 
 so little feeling as they are. Said a lawyer 
 to me once, " You Christians lose half the 
 beauty of the Bible by putting your minds 
 into such a strained, solemn attitude the mo- 
 ment you open it. I take it up as I would a 
 law book, and new truths, new beauty, and 
 new sublimity appear on every page." Our 
 senses are the inlets to our minds. The 
 Deity acts on this principle when he accom- 
 panies all developments of himself with such 
 remarkable outward appearances. Even the 
 Son of God must die amid the throbs of an 
 earthquake, the rending of graves and the 
 blotting out of the sun. The giving of the 
 law, too, was done amid scenes that were 
 designed never to be forgotten. 
 
 Behold the white tents of Israel scattered 
 like snow flakes at the base of that treeless, 
 
44 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 barren mountain. The hum of a mighty 
 population is there, and those flowing tents 
 on which the parting sun is leaving his fare- 
 well glories are the only pleasing objects 
 that meet the eye in this dreary region. A 
 solemn hush is on every thing as the moon 
 sails up the heavens, flooding with her gen- 
 tle light the tented host. Moses has de- 
 clared that on the third morning the eternal 
 God is to place his feet on that distant 
 mountain top in presence of all the people. 
 Awe-struck and expectant, the sons of Jacob 
 go from tent to tent to speak of this strange 
 event, and then cop/e out and look on the 
 mysterious mountain on which it is to tran- 
 spire. Unconscious of its high destiny, the 
 distant summit leans against the solemn sky, 
 and nothing there betokens preparation for 
 the stupendous scene. 
 
 But at length the morning comes and that 
 vast encampment is filled with the murmur 
 of the moving multitude, all turned anxiously 
 to distant Sinai. And lo! a solitary cloud 
 
MOUNTSINAI. 45 
 
 comes drifting along the morning sky and 
 catches against the top of the mountain. So 
 have I seen a cloud caught by an Alpine 
 summit and held firmly there. But the most 
 vivid impression I ever got of this scene vpas 
 from Mount Vesuvius. The mysterious 
 cloud it wraps around its own head, conceal- 
 ing the brightness and terror within, always 
 reminded me of the cloud on Sinai. And 
 then the tenacity with which it would cling 
 there. When the midnight heavens were 
 black with tempests, and the sea was one 
 wild waste of waves, and the clouds were 
 dashing like maddened spirits over the sky 
 before the blast — with every flash of light- 
 ning that illumined the gloom, I have caught 
 the distant top of Vesuvius with that cloud 
 around its head, moveless as a rock amid 
 the furious blast, while thunder and flame 
 and motion were within. So did the cloud 
 rest on Sinai as the people looked, and sud- 
 denly the thunder began to speak from its 
 depths, and the fierce lightning traversed its 
 
46 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 bosom, gleaming and flashing through every 
 part of it. That cloud was God's pavilion ; 
 the thunder was its sentinels, and the light- 
 ning the lances' points as they moved round 
 the sacred trust. The commotion which 
 from the first arrested every eye and chained 
 every tongue, grew wilder every moment till 
 the successive claps of thunder were like the 
 explosion of ten thousand cannon shaking 
 the earth. Amid this incessant firing of 
 heaven's artillery, suddenly from out the 
 bosom of that cloud came a single trumpet 
 blast. Not like the thrilling music of a thou- 
 sand trumpets that herald the shock of cav- 
 alry ; but one solitary clarion note with no 
 sinking cadence and rising swell, but an infi- 
 nite sound rising in its ascension power, till 
 the universe was filled with the strain. The 
 incessant thunders that rock the heights can- 
 not drown it, for clearer, fuller, louder, it 
 peals on over the astonished spectators, till 
 their hearts sink away in fear, and nature 
 herself stands awe-struck and trembling be- 
 
MOUNTSINAI. 47 
 
 fore it. And lo ! columns of smoke begin to 
 rise fast and furious, from that mysterious 
 cloud, as if a volcano had opened in its 
 bosom, and the pent-up elements were dis- 
 charging themselves in the upper air; and 
 the steady mountain rocks to and fro on its 
 base, as if in the grasp of an earthquake. 
 " And the smoke thereof ascended as the 
 smoke of a great furnace, and the whole 
 mount quaked greatly." 
 
 Amid this rapid roll of thunder, and flashing 
 of lightning, and fiercely ascending volumes 
 of smoke, and convulsive throbs of Sinai, 
 and while that trumpet strain still " waxed 
 loiider and louder," Moses led the trembling 
 Israelites forth to the foot of the mountain. 
 Suddenly the uproar ceased, and the thun- 
 ders hushed their voice, and the last echo of 
 the trumpet died away, and all was still. 
 And from that silent cloud came a voice 
 more fearful than they all — the voice of Je- 
 hovah calling Moses up into the mount. 
 The great lawgiver of Israel parted from 
 
4d sacred mountains. 
 
 his people, and with solemn step was seen 
 scaling the rocks and climbing the heights, 
 till at last the cloud received him in its 
 bosom. 
 
 The moral law was given, and also the 
 civil code, which men have so learnedly 
 traced to the social compact. The first act 
 in the mighty drama was ended, and Moses 
 was ordered to bring up Aaron and Nadab 
 and Abihu, and seventy of the elders, to 
 worship in the mountain ; and God showed 
 himself in his glory to them. 
 
 When this strange worship was ended, 
 the voice of Jehovah was again heard issu- 
 ing from the cloud ; but what a change in 
 the mean time had passed over its dark 
 form. A serene and pure radiance began to 
 play around it, quivering like a bright light 
 with its own intensity. Brighter and brighter 
 it grew till the eye turned away dazzled by 
 the sight. Brighter still it gleamed till it 
 seemed a glowing furnace, shooting forth 
 living fire on every side. Its wrathful streaks 
 
MOUNTSINAI. 49 
 
 Streamed down the mountain, filling the 
 cavities with deeper gloom, touching every 
 rock and crag with flame, and bathing the 
 white tents in a lurid light. And when the 
 night came on, and darkness wrapped the 
 world, that mountain was one blaze of glory, 
 shedding a strange lustre on the barren 
 scene, and revealing every face and form of 
 that immense host, as if they stood beneath 
 a burning palace, — ^painting with terrible dis- 
 tinctness, and in lines of fire, the surrounding 
 landscape. The stars went out before its 
 brilliancy, and the moon looked dark in its 
 splendor. For six days and nights did the 
 glory flame on, shedding such a baptism on 
 the wondering camp as was never before 
 witnessed by mortal eye, for "the sight of 
 the glory of the Lord was like a devouring 
 fire on the top of the mount in the eyes of 
 the children of Israel." Little sleep was in 
 the tents of Jacob then, for each one held his 
 breath in awe, wondering what next would 
 nappen in this succession of strange scenes. 
 
50 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 At length that voice, before which nature 
 herself seemed to change, again issued from 
 the cloud, calling Moses to a second inter- 
 view. Taking Joshua with him, he again 
 ascended the hill, and was wrapped from 
 sight " forty days and forty nights." 
 
 But as week after week passed by, and 
 there were no farther exhibitions, and Moses 
 did not return, the people passed from idle 
 ness into pleasure, and from pleasure into in 
 fidelity, and at length emboldened by their 
 own numbers, assembled tumultuously to- 
 gether and demanded another God, saying, 
 " As for this man Moses, who has brought us 
 here, we do not know what has become of 
 him." The golden calf was made, and the 
 intoxicated throng danced around it. What 
 a scene was there! Right at the foot of 
 Sinai, where a month before they had heard 
 the thunders and trumpet and voice, and 
 seen the lightnings and the glory; danced, 
 and shouted, and sung, in bacchanalian 
 frenzy the naked multitude — hailing in bois- 
 
MOUNTSINAI. 51 
 
 terous shouts a golden calf as their god ! 
 What a contrast to the scene passing on the 
 top of the mountain between Jehovah and 
 Moses ! ! 
 
 In the midst of this wild and blasphemous 
 revel, Moses was seen descending, with 
 thoughtful step, the distant slope, bearing in 
 his arms the tables of the law. At length, 
 as he and Joshua, in serious converse, passed 
 along, they came within hearing of the tu- 
 mult below. Suddenly stopping, they turned 
 their anxious eyes to the white tents, far, 
 far down in the valley, and Joshua said, 
 " There is fighting in the camp : I hear the 
 sound of battle." But the practiced ear of 
 Moses knew too well the meaning of that 
 confused murmur. " No," said he, " that is 
 not the shout of victors in the pursuit, nor 
 the shriek of the vanquished flying in fear, 
 ' but the noise of them that sing do I hear.' " 
 As he drew near and saw the shameless 
 revel and blasphemous worship, he cast the 
 tables at his feet and rushed into the camp. 
 
52 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 The naked throng paled before him as if he 
 had been a messenger of death ; the dancing 
 ceased, and the song and deafening shouts 
 were suddenly hushed. Turning neither to 
 the right hand nor the left, he passed, with 
 a brow dark as wrath, to the golden idol, 
 and hurling it into the fire trampled it 
 under foot. Then turning to Aaron, he 
 asked an explanation of this strange scene. 
 
 As soon as it was given, he hastened to 
 the gate of the camp, and sending his voice 
 like a trumpet call through the host, cried 
 out, " Whoever is on the Lord's side, let him 
 come to me !" The sons of Levi separated 
 themselves from the crowd and flocked about 
 him. " Seize now, (said he to these,) every 
 man his sword, and go in and out from gate 
 to gate throughout the camp, and slay every 
 man his brother, and every man his com- 
 panion, and every maa his neighbor." Amid 
 the silence that followed were heard sobs 
 and cries of despair ; and io ! that terrible 
 band, with drawn swords press into the 
 
MOUNTSINAI. 53 
 
 throng. There is no shout of battle, no cry 
 of anger, though the sword drinks blood at 
 every step. The moan of despair and the 
 sudden death-shriek alone tell where those 
 stern warriors pass. And now, enveloped in 
 the dense mass, the eye can tell where they 
 move only by the flash of dripping swords, 
 as they sweep in angry circles above their 
 heads. Though their hearts bleed at every 
 stroke, and a deeper paleness is on their 
 brow as they sheathe their weapons in theii 
 brethrens' bosoms, and the lip quivers before 
 the beseeching look of a once beloved friend, 
 their steadfast hearts must feel no Relenting. 
 The dead lie in swaths where they go, and 
 their weary arms droop beneath the pro- 
 tracted slaughter, yet on, on they press, till 
 three thousand corpses cumber the field. 
 Terrible scene — terrible vengeance — but the 
 sword of Divine Justice is ever awful. 
 
 Why speak of the after repentance and 
 consecration — of the second ascent into Sinai 
 
 — of the passing of Jehovah before Moses — 
 
 6* 
 
54 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 of the still radiance that beamed from his 
 face as he came once more unto the people, 
 until they turned dazzled from his presence. 
 The mighty pageant at length closed — the 
 cloud-column rose from before the tabernacle 
 and moved into the desert ; the tents were 
 struck ; and the host, headed by that myste- 
 rious pillar, in one long column disappeared 
 in the wilderness, and that fearful mountain 
 was left once more alone amid the bleak and 
 barren scenery. 
 
 Turned into sapphire by Jehovah's feet, 
 consecrated by his touch, and baptized by 
 the cloud of fire and of glory. Mount Sinai 
 stood the third Sacred Mountain on the 
 earth. 
 
It must have been a grievous offence of 
 which Moses and Aaron were guilty, when 
 commanded to bring water out of the rock 
 for the children of Israel, to have demanded 
 such punishment from heaven as was imme- 
 diately pronounced. That miracle must 
 have been attended with strange exhibitions 
 of human presumption and rebellion, or God 
 would not have slain the two great leaders 
 of Israel, after all their toils on the very 
 margin of the promised land, and conferred 
 the honor of conducting his people over Jor- 
 dan, on one whose labors seemed to give 
 him no claim to it. Said God to Moses and 
 Aaron, " Because ye believed me not, to 
 
56 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 sanctify me in the eyes of the children of Is- 
 rael, therefore ye shall not bring this congre- 
 gation into the land which I have given 
 them." Aaron was the first to bow to tnis 
 stern decree, and died on the top of Mount 
 Hor, while Moses was permitted to feast his 
 eyes on the promised land,--then buried on 
 the summit of Pisgah. These two great 
 leaders in Israel — these wonderful brothers 
 to whom the Gracchi and Horatii of the 
 world are but as dim shadows of men, died 
 on two mountain peaks, making them im- 
 mortal in history. 
 
 Aaron never appears so perfect a charac- 
 ter as Moses. He does not seem so much 
 above the follies and prejudices of his age. 
 He was more a man of the times, subject to 
 passing influences and prevailing tastes. Mo- 
 ses, on the contrary, was one of those rare 
 characters in history which seem to live in 
 the past, present, and future. Reverencing the 
 good that has been — understanding the full 
 scope and drift of the present, he at the same 
 
MOTJNTHOR. 57 
 
 time comprehends and lives in the future. 
 Such a man the ardor of hope never beguiles 
 into scorn of the past, nor over-reverence of 
 the present. Like those mountain summits 
 vrhich first catch the sunlight, he rises out 
 of the darkness and prejudice below him, 
 heralding the day that is approaching. Nei- 
 ther does Aaron seem borne up and onward 
 by so lofty a feeling as he. With mind less 
 strong, he lacked also the enthusiasm of his 
 brother. Yet he must have possessed rare 
 gifts to have been chosen the companion and 
 fellow-laborer of Moses in that wondrous 
 deliverance of the children of Israel from 
 Egypt, and in conducting them forty years 
 through the wilderness to the promised land. 
 Much more must he have possessed, an ele- 
 vation and purity of character far above his 
 fellows, to have, been chosen as the founder 
 of the Jewish priesthood — the first to minis- 
 ter at the altar, and to represent a sacerdotal 
 dynasty more glorious and more immortal 
 
58 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 than the line even of David, or any succes- 
 sion of kings that ever filled a throne. 
 
 Chosen by God to stand beside Moses 
 through the night of perU and trouble on 
 which the children of Jacob were entering, 
 he was sent to meet him on his way from 
 the wilderness. Obeying the command, he 
 set out in search of his brother, and lo, they 
 met " on the Mount of God" and kissed each 
 other, and returned together, conversing as 
 they went, to the court of Pharaoh. Who 
 can tell the misgivings and fear of these soli- 
 tary brothers, standing unprotected by hu- 
 man power before the throne of Pharaoh, 
 and raining on the oppressive monarch the 
 terrible denunciations of heaven % Who has 
 ever repeated their solemn interviews as 
 they retired a^art and conversed of the mira- 
 cles they had performed, and the message 
 of God which daily came to them from 
 heaven 1 Brave men ! day after day they 
 stood between their enslaved brethren and 
 a haughty court, waiting patiently the ful- 
 
MOUNTHOR. 69 
 
 filment of the promise, still delayed, until at 
 length their efforts were crowned with suc- 
 cess, and the thousands of Israel separated 
 themselves from their task-masters, and at 
 midnight moved away from the scene of their 
 degradation and their suiferings. Through 
 all those terrible plagues that desolated 
 Egypt — in the desperate retreat before the 
 thundering chariots of Pharaoh's army — 
 amid the murmuring multitude that clam- 
 ored against their deliverers who had thus 
 led them forth only to be slaughtered — 
 through the channel of deep waters, while 
 the waves foamed and crested along the 
 high brink that toppled above, Aaron never 
 faltered, but, side by side with his brother, 
 moved firm and steady as the pillar of fire 
 that led them on. 
 
 At length he was called forth from the 
 congregation by the voice of God, and or- 
 dained High Priest, amid the most solemn 
 ceremonies that ever attended a human 
 anointing, and the sacred robe was put about 
 
60 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 him, and he stood the mediator between the 
 people and their Maker. 
 
 But in the sedition which he planned with 
 Miriam against his brother, he was governed 
 by a spirit of envy and a desire to overthrow 
 him, and exhibited that weakness of charac- 
 ter of which I spoke. Yet, doubtless, Miriam 
 was the more guilty of the two, in this shame- 
 ful conspiracy ; for when the Lord suddenly 
 descended in the pillar of cloud, and, with 
 Moses, and Aaron, and Miriam before him, 
 sternly rebuked the erring brother and sister, 
 the latter only was punished. Smitten with 
 leprosy, she emerged from the mysterious 
 cloud that covered the tabernacle, " white as 
 snow." So also in making the golden calf 
 at the bidding of the people, and allowing 
 them to degrade themselves in the eyes of 
 God and man, he showed that he lacked the 
 loftiness of character which made Moses so 
 much feared, and rendered him so utterly in- 
 capable of becoming a partner in such folly 
 and wickedness. Still he was made the 
 
MOUNTHOR. 61 
 
 first High Priest of Israel, and clothed with 
 the richest honors of heaven. 
 
 But like Moses, he was not to see Canaan ; 
 and when the long column of Israel's thou- 
 sands stretched across the desert, and wound 
 around the base of Mount Hor, and pitched 
 their tents in its mighty shadow, his work 
 was done and his career ended. Said God 
 to Moses, " Aaron shall be gathered unto his 
 people, for he shall not enter into the land 
 which I have given unto the children of Is- 
 rael, because ye rebelled against my word at 
 the waters of Meribah. Take Aaron and 
 Eleazar his son, and bring them up unto 
 Mount Hor and strip Aaron of his garments, 
 and put them upon Eleazar his son; and 
 Aaron shall be gathered unto his people and 
 shall die there. And Moses did as the Lord 
 commanded : and they went up into Mount 
 Hor in the sight of all the congregation." 
 Whether the solemn event about to happen 
 to Aaron was made known to the people, 
 and they took a sad farewell of him as they 
 
62 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 did afterwards of Moses when he went up 
 Nebo, we cannot tell. But from the brief 
 account left us, it is probable that the se- 
 cret of his death was not divulged to the 
 congregation, and when he and his son, and 
 Moses together, left the camp and began to 
 ascend the solitary and barren mountain, — ri- 
 sing out of the midst of the desert, — that the 
 ten thousand eyes that strained after, sought 
 in vain to pierce the mystery that surround- 
 ed them. Perhaps they expected another 
 exhibition of God there similar to the one on 
 Sinai. Its solitary position — its command- 
 ing top made it a fit place for such a scene, 
 and as they saw those three forms climb 
 the rugged rocks and precipitous sides, and 
 finally stand on the bold and barren summit, 
 they may have looked for the descent of that 
 wondrous cloud which filled them with such 
 terror on Sinai. God was about to speak, 
 but to Moses, and Aaron, and Eleazar alone. 
 The two brothers stood on that high eleva- 
 tion together, and gazed for a moment on the 
 
MOUNTHOR. 63 
 
 scene below. There were the countless tents 
 of Israel sprinkled over the plain, never more 
 to be entered by Aaron. Farther off arose 
 the city of Edom, and still farther away like 
 a iiirror in the landscape, glittered the Dead 
 Sea, whose dark waters slumbered above 
 Sodom and Gomorrah. Behind them rose 
 Mount Seir, and away to the mouth of the 
 Jordan, stretched the valley of El Ghor. All 
 was sad, mouinful, and silent. How long the 
 brothers stood and talked together, we cannot 
 teU. Their embraces and repeated farewells 
 were not seen except by Eleazar, and the high 
 priest's prayers were unheard by those who 
 so often had invoked his intercessions at the 
 altar of sacrifice. Aaron's last prayer! the 
 brother and son who heard it, felt that the 
 High Priest had found a Mediator, before 
 whom a broken heart and contrite spirit were 
 the only sacrifice demanded. He had once 
 stayed up Moses' arm in the fight, by his 
 prayers to the God of battle, and now they 
 sustained each other in this last greatest 
 
64 ■ SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 trial. Methinks, that Aaron knelt there, on 
 the top of the barren mountain, and with 
 his hand on the hea;d of his son, commended 
 him to the God of Israel, with tears and in- 
 tercessions such only as a parent can use. 
 His last instructions had more of heaven 
 than earth in them, and his last farewell was 
 worthy of the High Priest of Israel. Moses, 
 as he stripped him of his sacerdotal robes, 
 doubtless spoke of their speedy meeting in 
 that Canaan, of which the one they sought 
 was but the type. He knew that his own 
 hour was nigh, and that his brother's death 
 was but the prelude to his own. It was a 
 sad task given him to take the sacred vesture 
 from his brother ; and, as it were, clothe him 
 while in full health, with his funeral shroud. 
 And the son, the pure-minded, noble, and af- 
 fectionate son, with what tears and choking 
 grief did he see his father despoiled of his 
 honors, and himself clad in his priestly gar- 
 ments! It was a heavy trial to all — to 
 brother, father, and son, and a mournful 
 
MOUNTHOR. 65 
 
 scene there on the top of the mountain. But 
 the last embrace was at length given and 
 taken — the last prayer breathed and the High 
 Priest of Israel laid down to die. Glorious 
 was his departure from the top of that lordly 
 mountain — triumphant his last words as his 
 eyes closed on his son, and opened again in 
 heaven. 
 
 When the people of Israel saw Moses and 
 Eleazar return alone, and were told that 
 Aaron was dead, they mourned thirty days. 
 
 Mount Hor is a lonely peak, seen at a 
 great distance from the desert, and consti- 
 tutes one of the landmarks by which the 
 Arab guides his way. On its summit is a 
 white building called the tomb of Aaron ; 
 Mahometans and Christians reverence it 
 alike, and the sepulchre of the High Priest 
 is safe from the ravages even of the Arab of 
 the desert. A landmark in the bleak sce- 
 nery, within sight of the desolate city of 
 Edom and its pillared rocks, overlooking the 
 
 Dead Sea, it is a fit place for the tomb of 
 6* 
 
66 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Aaron, and stands consecrated forever. An 
 imperishable testimonial of the truth of the 
 Bible — a stern witness of the fulfilment of 
 prophecy — a cursed city and a cursed moun- 
 tain on either side — it arrests the traveller's 
 eye from afar, and fills him with awe and 
 fear as it silently and perpetually speaks of 
 God. 
 
Perhaps there is no mountain on our 
 planet, which from its associations has fur- 
 nished more cheering promises to man than 
 Mount Pisgah. Around its summit cluster 
 some of the most glorious truths of our re- 
 ligion, and a light falls there like the radi- 
 ance of heaven itself. But of these I do not 
 design to speak. Others have exhibited 
 these truths better than I could ; and follow- 
 ing out my original plan, I wish merely to 
 describe the scenes connected with this 
 mountain, rather than the truths they de- 
 velop. 
 
 Moses, like Aaron, was denied entrance 
 into the land of Canaan. Though he had 
 
68 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 braved the wrath of Pharaoh, renounced his 
 worldly expectations, perilled his life, and led 
 on the hosts of Israel for forty years through 
 the wilderness, for the sole purpose of reaching 
 the promised land, his eyes were only to be 
 once gladdened by the sight. He had escaped 
 the wrath of his pursuers — the pestilence 
 that swept so many thousands to death — the 
 bite of the flaming serpents that strewed the 
 camp with so many thousands more — even 
 the decay of the body itself — to die at last 
 by special decree, in sight of the very object 
 of all his toils — the anticipated rest from all 
 his labors. The sea had been passed — the 
 murmurs of the people borne with — the long 
 weary desert travelled over — forty years of 
 the prime of life exhausted, to secure one 
 single object, and then he died with that ob- 
 ject unreached, though spread out in all its 
 tempting loveliness before him. 
 
 Angry when the people clamored for 
 water — daring to carry out the commands 
 of the Lord in a petulant spirit — assembling 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 
 
 the people hastily, without sanctifying them 
 for the great miracle about to be performed, 
 addressing them roughly, and claiming the 
 credit of the miracle, though perhaps unin- 
 tentionally, saying, " must ice bring water 
 out of the rock f and smiting, in his vexa- 
 tion, the rock twice, instead of once, as he 
 had been commanded, and thereby injuring 
 the type, — Moses had so displeased the Lord 
 that he denied him entrance into Canaan. 
 
 In whatever relations we behold Moses, 
 with the above single exception, he is ever 
 the same sublime and majestic character. 
 Noble by nature, great by his mission, and 
 greater still by the manner in which he ac- 
 complished it, he ever maintains his ascen- 
 dency over our feelings. We see the fiery 
 promptings of the heart that could not brook 
 oppression, in the bloody vengeance he took 
 on the Egyptian who would trample on his 
 brother. Preferring the desert with freedom 
 to the court of Pharaoh in sight of injustice, 
 he led the life of a fugitive. Called by a 
 
70 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 voice from heaven to go back to deliver his 
 people, he again trod the courts of the King 
 of Egypt. 
 
 But not in the presence of Pharaoh when 
 he withstood the monarch to his face, and 
 brought down the thunders of heaven on his 
 throne — not on the beach of the sea, with 
 one arm upraised towards heaven, and the 
 other stretched out over the water, while the 
 waves that went surging by stopped and 
 crouched at his feet — ^not in the midst of the 
 raining manna — not in the lifting of the 
 brazen symbol in the midst of the flying ser- 
 pents, while the moan of suffering and the 
 cries of the dying struggled up from the 
 crowded encampment — not when, between 
 the mountains, his stately form shone in the 
 light of the blazing fiery pillar, while the 
 tread of the mighty multitude shook the 
 earth behind him — nor even when he stood 
 on shaking Sinai, his guard the thunder and 
 his vesture the lightning, and talked with 
 the Eternal as friend talketh with friend, — 
 
MOUNTPISGAH. 71 
 
 not in all these awful relations does he ap- 
 pear to me so majestic and attractive as in 
 this last event of his life. 
 
 Behold the white tents of Israel scattered 
 over the plain and swelling knolls at the foot 
 of Momit Nebo. It is a balmy, glorious day. 
 The sun is sailing over the encampment, 
 while the blue sky bends like God in love 
 over all thhigs. Here and there a fleecy 
 cloud is hovering over the top of Pisgah, as 
 if conscious of the mysterious scene about to 
 transpire there. The trees stand green and 
 fresh in the sunlight ; the lowing of cattle 
 rises through the still atmosphere, and na- 
 ture is lovely and tranquil, as if no sounds 
 of grief were to disturb her repose. 
 
 Amid this beauty and quietness, Moses as- 
 sembled the children of Israel for the last 
 time, to take his farewell look, and leave his 
 farewell blessing. He cast his eye over the 
 leaders beside him, and over the host, while 
 a thousand contending emotions struggled for 
 the mastery in his bosom. The past with its 
 
72 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 toils and suffering rose up before him, and 
 how could he part with his children, — mur- 
 muring and ungrateful though they had been, 
 whom he had borne on his brave heart for 
 more than forty years'? Self-collected and 
 calm he stood before them and gave them 
 his last blessing. He made no complaints— 
 never spoke of his hardships in their behalf; 
 made no allusion to his anguish in leaving 
 them on the very verge of Canaan, the ob- 
 ject for which he had toiled so long. He 
 did not even refer to his death. In the mag- 
 nanimity of his great heart, forgetful of him- 
 self, or else not daring to trust his feelings in 
 an allusion to his fate, he closed his sublime 
 address in the following touching language : 
 ' The eternal God is thy refuge, and under- 
 neath are the everlasting arms ; and he shall 
 thrust out the enemy before thee : Israel 
 then shall dwell in safety alone. Happy art 
 thou, O Israel : who is like unto thee, oh 
 people saved by the Lord, the shield of thy 
 help, and who is the sword of thy excel- 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. T3 
 
 lency !" Noble language — noble heart. Car- 
 ried away in the contemplation of his chil- 
 dren's happiness, he burst forth into excla- 
 mations of joy in the moment of his deepest 
 distress. But did not that manly voice falter 
 and that stern lip quiver as he advanced to bid 
 them his last adieu 1 For a moment methinks 
 the rising emotiohs checked his utterance. 
 They had been the companions of his toil — 
 the objects of his deepest solicitude. A 
 common suffering, a common fate, had bound 
 them to him by a thousand ties. He looked 
 back on the desert : it was past. He looked 
 forward on Canaan : it was near. He turned 
 to the people, and they were weeping. He 
 cast his eye up Nebo, and he knew he must 
 die. Although no complaint escaped his 
 lips — no regret fell from his tongue, a "deeper 
 paleness was on his cheek, and a sternei 
 strife in his heart than he had ever felt be- 
 fore. Though outwardly calm, his stern na- 
 ture shook for a moment like a cedar in a 
 
 tempest, and then the struggle was over. 
 
 7 
 
74 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 His farewell was echoed in melancholy tones 
 from lip to lip through the vast host, as he 
 turned to ascend the mountain. As he ad- 
 vanced from rock to rock, the sobbing of the 
 multitude that followed after, tore his heart- 
 strings like the suffering cry of a child its pa- 
 rent's, and it was long before he dare trust 
 himself to turn and look below. But at length 
 he paused on a high rock and gazed a mo- 
 ment on the scene at his feet. There were 
 the white tents of Jacob glittering in the sun- 
 light, and there the dark mass of Israel's 
 host as they stood and watched the form of 
 their departing leader. Those tents had be- 
 come familiar to him as household scenes, 
 and as he gazed on them now, far, far be- 
 neath him, and saw the cloud overshadow- 
 ing the mysterious ark, a sigh of unutterable 
 sadness escaped him. He thought of the 
 bones of Joseph he had carried for forty 
 years, that were to rest with his descen- 
 dants, while he was to be left alone amid 
 the mountains. Again he turned to the as- 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 75 
 
 cent, and soon a rock shut him from view, 
 and he passed on alone to the summit. 
 
 There God miraculously spread before 
 him all the land of Canaan. He stood a 
 speck on the high crag, and gazed on the 
 lovely scene. Jordan went sweeping by in 
 the glad sunlight. Palm trees shook their 
 green tops in the summer wind, and plains 
 and cities and vineyards spread away in 
 endless beauty before him. But ah, me- 
 thinks he saw more than the landscape smi- 
 ling beneath the eastern sky. The history of 
 the future was unrolled before him. He saw 
 the manger of Bethlehem, and also the star 
 that hung over it. There lay glittering in 
 the landscape the sea of Galilee, but he saw 
 more than the water ; he beheld the myste- 
 rious form walking there in the midst of the 
 midnight storm. He saw Jerusalem in its 
 glory and downfall. He heard the birth- 
 song of the angels, and shout of the shep- 
 herds, — and last of all, a mysterious mount 
 rose before him, wrapped in storm and cloud. 
 
76 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 through whose gloomy foldings gleamed a 
 cross. The clouds rolled away, and lo, the 
 Strength of Israel, the Refuge of Judah, hung 
 in death. Again the vision changed— the 
 sepulchre was open, and like an ascending 
 glory that form rose to heaven. 
 
 The scene valnished from his sight, and 
 with the rock for his couch and the blue sky 
 for his covering, he laid down to die. Oh, 
 who can tell what the mighty lawgiver felt, 
 left in that dreadful hour alone ! The mys- 
 tery of mysteries was to be passed. No 
 friend was beside his couch to soothe him, 
 no voice to encourage him in that last, dark- 
 est of all human struggles. No one was 
 with him but God, and though with one 
 hand he smote him, with the other he held 
 his dying head. How long was he dying 7 
 God alone can answer. What words did 
 his quivering lips last utter? God alone 
 knows. Was his last prayer for Israel ? — 
 his last words of the Crucified ? From that 
 lonely rock did a shout go up — " Oh Deathj 
 
MOUNT PISGAH. 77 
 
 where is thy sting? Oh Grave, where is 
 thy victory?" Of that last scene and its 
 changes we know nothing, but when it was 
 over, Moses lay a corpse on the mountain 
 top. And God buried him. There he slept 
 alone — the mountain cloud which night 
 hung round him was his only shroud, and 
 the thunder of the passing storm his only 
 dirge. There he slept while centuries rolled 
 by, his grave unknown and unvisited, until 
 at length he is seen standing on Mount Ta- 
 bor, with Christ, in the Transfiguration. 
 Over Jordan at last — in Canaan at last. 
 
 I will not speak here of the instruction 
 this scene affords : but from the very summit 
 of his sorrows, where he had gone to die, 
 Moses for the first time in his life, caught a 
 view of Canaan. He did not know as he 
 went over the rocks, torn and weary, how 
 lovely the prospect was from the top. In 
 this world it frequently happens that when 
 man has reached the place of anguish, God 
 
 folds away the mist from before his eyes, 
 
 7* 
 
78 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 and the very spot he selected as the recepta- 
 cle of his tears becomes the place of his 
 highest rapture. 
 
 For thirty days did the Israelites mourn 
 at the base of that mountain over their de- 
 parted leader, and then mournfully struck 
 their tents and moved away. Consecrated 
 by the death of Moses — receiving his last 
 prayer and last sigh, Mount Pisgah stood 
 the fifth sacred mountain on the earth. 
 
£ B 
 
 Mount Horeb not being so isolated as 
 Ararat or Sinai, does not occupy so defi- 
 nite a place in nature or history as they. 
 One of the group that surrounds Sinai, it 
 presents the same barren and desolate ap- 
 pearance, and stands amid the same bleak 
 and forbidding scenery. These solemn sum- 
 mits rise together in the same heavens, and 
 the silent language they speak has the same 
 meaning. Still, Horeb has less distinguish- 
 ing characteristics than Sinai, and the latter 
 overshadows it as much in interest as it 
 does in nature. The Mount of Terror is 
 monarch there in the desert, and all other 
 summits are but his body guard. They wit- 
 
80 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 nessed his grand coronation when the law 
 was given, and shook to the thunders that 
 honored the ceremony. 
 
 Mount Horeb has not been consecrated 
 once, but thrice, and hence has a threefold 
 claim for a place amid the immortal list of 
 Sacred Mountains. Moses learned his first 
 lessons around its base, and amid its soli- 
 tudes formed the thoughtful, stern, and de- 
 cided character which rendered him fit to be 
 the leader of Israel. When in his impetuous 
 youth he slew the Egyptian that would 
 trample on his countryman, he came thither 
 to escape the penalty of the deed. After 
 the first gust of indignation had swept by, 
 and he saw the lifeless corpse at his feet, 
 alarm took the place of passion, and hastily 
 covering the dead man in the sand, he fled 
 to the desert. Month after month he wan- 
 dered about Horeb, thinking of Egypt and 
 the royal court he dared not enter. Away 
 from the temptations of the palace, and be- 
 yond the reach of the conflicting motives 
 
MOUNTHORKB. 81 
 
 that might sway him there, he trod the 
 desert a free man. With nought but Nature 
 and God to teach him, his character must be 
 simple and manly, and his principles upright 
 and pure. Amid the grand and striking fea- 
 tures of mountain scenery, he could not but 
 learn to hate tyranny and love freedom still 
 more, and when, at length, his character 
 was settled on a broad and permanent basis, 
 God sent him back to Egypt to deliver his 
 people. 
 
 Wandering one morning along the slopes 
 of Horeb, he saw before him a solitary bush 
 blazing from top to bottom, but still uncon- 
 sumed. Every branch was a fiery branch, 
 and every leaf a leaf of fire that glowed un- 
 wasted in the still flame. As he stood 
 amazed and awe-struck at the sight, a wice 
 whose tones were yet to be familiar to his 
 ear exclaimed, " Take thy shoes from off thy 
 feet, for the place on which thou standest is 
 Holy Ground." Here Moses received his 
 first commission, and here was God's first 
 
82 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 outward demonstration to him in behalf of 
 his people. 
 
 In the exciting scenes tlirough which he 
 afterwards passed in Egypt, he may have 
 entirely forgotten Horeb. But after the 
 plagues, and death, and flight, and pursuit, 
 and Red Sea passage, and overthrow of his 
 enemies, had all been left behind, and the 
 host of Israel entered the desert, the familiar 
 scenery he began to approach must have 
 waked up strange associations in his heart. 
 At length the well-remembered form of 
 Horeb, where he had wandered lonely and 
 solitary, self-exiled from his home, rose be- 
 fore him. A gloomy fugitive he first saw 
 that desolate mountain in the distance ; — a 
 leader of a mighty people, and the chosen of 
 God, he pitched his tent the second time at 
 its base. Doubtless his first inverview with 
 the Deity here, caused him to expect some 
 other revelations now that the commission 
 he had given him had been fulfilled. How 
 much his early experience Itad to do with 
 
MOUNTHORKB. 83 
 
 his encamping on this spot with the host of 
 Israel it is impossible to tell ; but that he 
 should expect that God who had first sent 
 him forth should here give him further in- 
 structions was most natural. His expecta- 
 tions were not disappointed, and Sinai and 
 Horeb together became the scene of the 
 most wondrous events of human history. 
 The shadow of Sinai falls over Horeb, and 
 they stand together in immortal brotherhood. 
 They cannot well be separated in contem- 
 plating the revelations of God l.o his people, 
 on their journey from Egypt to Canaan, and 
 hence I have not attempted it. 
 
 Still, there are other scenes connected 
 with Horeb, in which Sinai is not mention- 
 ed. Twice had it been honored by the pres- 
 ence of Deity, which had so consecrated it 
 that we find the angel of the Lord after- 
 wards calling it " the Mount of God." It 
 was however destined for a third baptism. 
 When Elijah, hunted by Jezebel, fled for his 
 life, he wandered across the desert to this 
 
84 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 mountain. His prayers iiad brought rain 
 upon the parched and desolate earth, but his 
 sword had also drank the blood of the 
 prophets of Baal, and Jezebel had sent him 
 word that she would do to hira as he had 
 done to her prophets ; and so he fled into 
 the wilderness and sat down under a juniper 
 tree and prayed for death. Weary and dis- 
 couraged, the hunted fugitive laid down and 
 slept on the barren heath, when the angel of 
 the Lord touched him and bade liim arise 
 and go to Mount Horeb. Elijah started for 
 the desert, and after travelling for more than 
 a month, he at lengtli, worn and exhausted, 
 came to the mountain, and took up his soli- 
 tary lodgings in a cave. How many deso- 
 late days and lonely nights he passed there 
 we know not, but broken in spirit, nay, his 
 faith itself weak and well nigh gone, his 
 hours whether few or many were full of de- 
 spondency and sorrow. Both the blessings 
 and judgments he had brought on Israel, 
 attended, though they had been, with mira- 
 
MOUNTHOREB. 85 
 
 cles, had failed to turn the people from their 
 wickedness. That Elijah was still in the 
 despairing mood which caused him to pray 
 under the juniper tree for death is evident 
 both from the interrogation of the Deity and 
 the reply of the prophet. " The Lord said 
 unto him, What doest thou here, Elijah 7 
 And he said, I have been very jealous for 
 the Lord God of Hosts, for the children of 
 Israel have forsaken thy covenants, thrown 
 down thy altars, and slain thy prophets with 
 the sword ; and I, even I only am left, and 
 they seek my life. And he said, Go forth 
 and stand upon the mount." Jehovah was 
 about to reveal himself, and Elijah evidently 
 expected some exhibition of divine goodness 
 or power, though he was not prepared for 
 the scene which was about to transpire. 
 Before he reached the entrance of his cave 
 he heard a roar louder than the sea, that ar- 
 rested his footsteps and sent the blood back 
 to his heart. The next moment there came 
 a blast of wind, as if the last chain that 
 
 8 
 
86 SACRED MOUNTAIWS. 
 
 bound it had suddenly been thrown off and 
 it had burst forth in all its unrestrained and 
 limitless energy. In the twinkling of an eye 
 the sun was blotted out by the cloud of dust, 
 and the fragments that filled the air as it 
 whirled them in fierce eddies onward. It 
 shrieked and howled around the mouth of 
 the cave, while the fierce hissing sound of 
 its steady pressure against the heart of the 
 mountain was more terrible than its ocean- 
 like roar. Before its fury and strength rocks 
 were loosened from their beds and hurled 
 through the gloom — the earth rent where it 
 passed, and so boundless seemed its strength 
 that the steady mountain threatened to lift 
 from its base and be carried away. Amid 
 this deafening uproar and confusion and 
 darkness and terror, the stunned and awe- 
 struck Elijah expected to see the form of 
 Jehovah moving ; but that resistless blast, 
 strewing the sides of Horeb with wreck and 
 chaos was not God in motion : 
 
M O U N T H O R E B . 87 
 
 " 'Twas but the whirlwind of his breath. 
 Announcing danger, wreck, alid death." 
 
 The hurricane passed by, and that wild 
 strife of the elements ceased ; but before the 
 d'Arkened heavens could clear themselves 
 the prophet heard a rumbling sound in the 
 bowels of the mountain, and the next mo- 
 ment an earthquake was on the march. 
 Stern Horeb rocked to and fro like a vessel 
 in a storm, and its bosom parted with the 
 sound of thunder before the convulsive 
 throbs that seemed rending the very heart 
 of nature. Fathomless abysses opened on 
 every side, and huge precipices, toppling 
 over the chasms at their base, went thun- 
 dering through the darkness. The fallen 
 prophet lay on the floor of his cavern and 
 listened to the grinding, crushing sound 
 around and beneath him, and the steady 
 shocks more terrible than all that ever and 
 anon shook the heights, thinking that Jeho- 
 vah at last stood before him. Surely it was 
 his mighty hand that laid on that trembling, 
 
88 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 tottering mountain, and his strong arm that 
 rocked it so wildly on its base. No, " God 
 was not in the earthquake." 
 
 " 'Twas but the thundering of his car, 
 The trampling of his steeds from far." 
 
 The commotion ceased, and Nature stood 
 " and calmed her ruffled frame :" but in the 
 deep, ominous silence that followed, there 
 seemed a foreshadowing of some new terror, 
 and lo, the heavens were suddenly on fire, 
 and a sheet of flame fell like falling lightning 
 from the sky. Its lurid light pierced to the 
 depths of Elijah's cavern till it glowed like 
 an oven, and from base to summit of Mount 
 Horeb there vpent up a vast cloud of smoke, 
 fast and furious, while the entire sides 
 flowed with torrents of fire. The mountain 
 glowed with a red heat, and stood like a 
 huge burning furnace under a burning heav- 
 en, and groaned on its ancient seat as if 
 in torture. But God was not in the fiery 
 storm. 
 
 " 'Twas but the lightning of his eye" 
 
MOUNTHOREB. 89 
 
 that had kindled that mountain into a blaze, 
 and filled the air with flame. 
 
 But this too passed by, and what new 
 scene of terror could rise worthy to herald 
 the footsteps of God — what greater outward 
 grandeur could surround his presence 1 The 
 astonished prophet still lay upon his face 
 wrapped in wonder, and filled with fear at 
 these exhibitions of Almighty power, wait- 
 ing for the next scene in this great drama, 
 when suddenly through the deep quiet, and 
 breathless hush that had succeeded the 
 earthquake and the storm, there arose " a 
 still small voice," the like of which had 
 never met his ear before. It was "small 
 and still," but it thrilled the prophet's frame 
 with electric power, and rose so sweet and 
 clear, 
 
 " That all in heaven and earth might hear ; 
 It spoke of peace — it spoke of love, 
 It spoke as angels speak above." 
 
 And God was in the voice. The prophet 
 
 knew that He was nigh, and, rising up, 
 8* 
 
90 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 wrapped his mantle about his face, and 
 went to the mouth of the cave, and rever- 
 ently stood and listened. Oh, who can tell 
 the depth and sweetness of the tones of that 
 voice which the Lord of love deemed wor- 
 thy to announce his coming. A ransomed 
 spirit's harp^ — an angel's lute — a seraph's 
 song, could not have moved the prophet so. 
 But while his whole being, soul and body, 
 trembled to its music, a sterner voice met 
 his ear, saying, " What doest thou here, Eli- 
 jah 1" The prophet again poured the tale 
 of his woes and of Israel's sin into the Infi- 
 nite bosom. His wrongs were promised re- 
 dress, and Israel deliverance ; and the hunted 
 exile went boldly back to his people, and 
 Horeb again stood silent and alone in the 
 desert. 
 
M O U WT^-^WA 1 M E I 
 
 Mount Carmel stands by the sea, lifting 
 its head two thousand feet above the water, 
 looking off on Sharon towards the south, 
 while inland Tabor shows dim through the 
 hazy atmosphere. Its shape is that of a flat- 
 tened cone, and it is one of the most pictur- 
 esque objects in that land of glorious asso- 
 ciations. Two scenes, totally different, yet 
 thrilling in the extreme, have transpired on 
 its summit. Elijah and Mount Carmel go 
 together, and no time nor change can sepa- 
 rate them in human history. 
 
 Under the reign of the despot Ahab, Is- 
 rael had forsaken the commandments of God 
 and his worship, and gone over to idolatry 
 
92 
 
 iACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 till vice and cruelty covered the land. To 
 bring the nation to reflection God declared 
 through Elijah that no rain should fall on 
 the earth for vears; and lo, the heavens 
 were shut up and became like brass over 
 the thirsty fields. Every thing withered up 
 — the corn shrivelled and died — the grass 
 shrunk away and turned red in the fierce 
 heat — the very trees drooped and died, and 
 the once fat herds, reduced to skeletons, 
 swarmed over the fields in search of food 
 and water. The harvest remained ungath- 
 ered, and the farmer looked with anxious, 
 and then despairing heart on his barren 
 fields and empty granaries. Men husbanded 
 the little grain that was left, and all over 
 Israel, food was measured out by piecemeal, 
 for want began to stare them in face. The 
 first year men were impoverished, the sec- 
 ond ruined in their fortunes, but the third 
 brought famine and all its horrors. Chil- 
 dren pleading for bread died in their parents' 
 arms — the old yielded up the ghost with a 
 
MOUNTCARMEL. 93 
 
 groan, and the strong-limbed, fell bloated, on 
 their own thresholds, and woe, and wretch- 
 edness, were on every side. At first, Ahab 
 was angry with Elijah, who had predicted 
 this calamity, and attempted to slay him as 
 the cause of it ; but the prophet fled from 
 his hand. But, at length, the haughty king 
 was frightened into apparent meekness, and 
 then the prophet presented himself before 
 him. The hunted fugitive trod the courts 
 of the palace without fear, and more like a 
 king than their owner, and stood with a 
 stern and haughty brow before the royal 
 despot. The king looked on him a moment 
 in surprise, as he stood wrapped in his man- 
 tle before him, then said, " Art thou he that 
 troubleth Israel T' The roused prophet, 
 whose heart had bled over the sufferings of 
 his beloved country, who would gladly have 
 sacrificed his life to have saved it, could not 
 brook the charge implied in this question. 
 Hurling back the accusation in the very 
 teeth of the king, he said, "/ have not trou- 
 
94 
 
 ACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 hhd Israel, hut thou and thy father's house, in 
 that ye have forsaken the commandments of 
 the Lord and thou liast followed, Baalim.''^ 
 " Thou, proud monarch, art the enemy of 
 thy country ; thou hast brought down the 
 curse of heaven ; on thy head rests the guilt 
 of all this woe and death." Such was the 
 language the despised, and poor, and exiled 
 prophet uttered in the ears of the astonished 
 Ahab. Conscience had at length awoke, 
 and he dared not resent it, but allowed him- 
 self to be bearded on his very throne, sur- 
 rounded by his vassals. Elijah saw that he 
 was partially humbled by fear — and well he 
 might be at the spectacle his country pre- 
 sented — and so immediately proposed a trial 
 of the respective claims of the prophets of 
 the Lord and those of Baal : " Gather me," 
 said he, " all Israel unto Mount Carmel, and 
 with them four hundred and fifty of the 
 prophets of Baal, and four hundred more of 
 the prophets of the groves who sit at Jeze- 
 bel's table." A strange proposal for a public 
 
MOUNT CARIHUL. 95 
 
 criminal to make to a king, but there was 
 something about him that awed the mon- 
 arch, so that he dared not refuse his consent. 
 That plain-clad man in his mantle, who had 
 been a by- word for children for years, now 
 dictated to the king, who had hunted him 
 like a common felon, the length and breadth 
 of Israel. His order was obeyed, and lo, all 
 Israel came flocking to Carmel. Every road 
 was thronged with the eager thousands : on 
 foot, in carriages, and on horseback they 
 went streaming onward, till every highway 
 leading to the mountain was filled with the 
 dust of hasty travellers. In the barren fields 
 through which they rode — in the wan and 
 haggard faces that stared on them as they 
 passed, they saw evidence enough that Is- 
 rael was troubled, and that it was time the 
 cause was made known. 
 
 The prophets of Baal, and of the groves, 
 eight hundred and fifty of them in all, went 
 in the pomp becoming their high station and 
 power, and thus priest and people thronged 
 
96 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 together to this strange rendezvous. With- 
 out a friend to cheer him, unless perchance 
 Obadiah was with him, — on foot and alone, 
 Elijah trod his weary way to the same 
 solemn gathering. Behold the top of Car- 
 mel covered with the multitude ! Below 
 them heaves the blue Mediterranean, whose 
 restless waters lose themselves in the dis- 
 tance ; behind them is Palestine in its beau- 
 ty, and, far away, the snow-capt heights of 
 Lebanon fringe the horizon. It is a glori- 
 ous spectacle beneath and around, and the 
 solemn murmur of the sea perchance rises 
 over the hum of the multitude. But soon 
 one form and one voice arrest every eye and 
 ear. Wrapped in his mantle, Elijah stands 
 on the lordly summit, and casting his eye 
 over the landscape, and over the throng, at 
 length breaks forth : " Hoic long halt ye be- 
 tween two opinions 1 If the Lord be God, 
 follow him; hut if Baal then follow him." 
 He paused, and gazed sternly on the thou- 
 sands about him, but not a voice broke the 
 
MOUNTCARMEL. 97 
 
 ominous silence. There was an air of au- 
 thority about him that awed even the proph- 
 ets of Baal ; and, in the confidence of a king 
 rather than with the humility of a pro- 
 scribed man, he made a proposal which 
 should forever settle who was the true God, 
 and which were the false. " I," said Elijah, 
 " am the only prophet of the Lord left, while 
 here are four hundred and fifty prophets of 
 Baal. But let them now take two bullocks, 
 and cut one in pieces, and lay it on wood 
 without fire ; and I will dress the other bul- 
 lock and lay it on wood, and put no fire un- 
 der ; and they shall call on their God, and I 
 will call on the Lord, and the God that an- 
 swereth by fire let him be God." " It is 
 well spoken^" murmured the multitude ; " let 
 it be tried." Whether the prophets wished 
 to come to this conclusive issue or not, they 
 were forced to it by the people. Doubtless, 
 they feared a failure, but they hoped their 
 numbers and their power might overawe 
 Elijah, and it might be a mutual failure, and 
 
98 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 then the prophet's doom was sealed. He 
 had called all Israel together, and the people 
 were on the stretch of expectatioQ, and any 
 thing short of overwhelming success would 
 be disgrace and death. "And I am left 
 alone." Yes, thou art alone, Elijah, and 
 around thee are nearly a thousand vindic- 
 tive foes, thirsting for thy blood ; and if thy 
 God answers not by fire then wilt thou thy- 
 self be offered up here on the mountain, a 
 sacrifice to human hate. True, thou stand- 
 est proudly there, with thy uplifted arm 
 pointing towards heaven, and thy prophet's 
 mantle wrapped about thee, and thy voice is 
 like one who knows the secrets of God ; but 
 woe to thee if thou hast deceived thyself 
 and this mighty assembly. 
 
 Thus thought many a heart as they saw 
 Elijah, by one single act, bring the reputa- 
 tion of God and his own life into apparent 
 jeopardy. But now there was no retreat to 
 either party, and the prophets of Baal cut 
 their bullock in pieces, and laid it on the 
 
MOUNTCARMEL. 99 
 
 wood, under the open sky, and began to pray. 
 There was no room for deception here — all 
 was open and clear, and every eye could see 
 the fire that should fall from the cloudless 
 heavens above. All was silent expectation 
 and breathless anxiety as this strange scene 
 commenced. The sun had just risen over 
 the Holy Land, floodin;? Mount Carmel with 
 his beams, as those four hundred and fifty 
 prophets knelt, in one dense mass, around 
 the altar and began their supplications. At 
 first, solemn and fervent, as became the dig- 
 nity of the occasion, they besought Baal, for 
 his honor and for the sake of his followers, 
 to hear them. To send down fire, and thus 
 forever to silence the tongue of this hos- 
 tile prophet, was a small matter for one so 
 powerful. But no fire descended, — the sun 
 rode quietly up the heavens, — the deep 
 heaved calmly below, and the morning 
 wind went seaward as gaily as ever. Thus 
 they prayed till noon, while the people 
 looked on. But at length frenzy took the 
 
100 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 place of supplication, and it was one wild 
 shout around that bullock, as it lay smoking 
 in the mid-day sun. Elijah till now had 
 stood apart and quietly "surveyed the scene, 
 but as the excited throng began their mad 
 outcries and frantic gestures, crying, " O 
 Baal hear us !" his long suppressed scorn 
 broke forth, and he taunted them in the 
 midst of their ravings, and said, " Cry aloud, 
 for he is a god ; perhaps he is busy talking, 
 and cannot attend to you immediately ; or 
 he is pursuing his foe, and cannot stop ; or 
 perhaps he is on a journey, or asleep. Shout 
 louder, and wake up your God." Bitter 
 words, that only increased the frenzy of 
 those to whom they were addressed, and they 
 leaped upon the altar, flinging their arms 
 aloft, crying out still more frantically, " O 
 Baal, hear us !" They cut themselves with 
 knives and lancets, till the blood streamed 
 over the bullock, and shouted till Mount 
 Carmel rung with their turbulent cries, 
 and became a scene of indescribable confu- 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 101 
 
 srion ; but still the heavens were silent and 
 serene as ever ; no voice answered them — 
 no fire came down. 
 
 At length the people began to tire of this 
 exciting but useless scene, and the prophets 
 themselves gave up in despair. Then came 
 Elijah's turn. The sun was stooping to- 
 wards the sea, and the time of the evening 
 sacrifice approached. Standing up, he called 
 the people to him, and, as they clustered 
 around, he repaired the long neglected al- 
 tar of the Lord, and placed upon it twelve 
 stones for the twelve tribes of Israel. He 
 then dug a trench around it, and having 
 placed the wood on the altar, and the bul- 
 lock on the wood, told the spectators to pour 
 four barrels of water over them. They did 
 so. " Do it the second time," said he, and 
 they did it the second time, and the third 
 time, till the trench was full to the brim, 
 and the wood and the sacrifice were flooded. 
 Here could be no deception, no concealed 
 
 tire, nothing which could allow the prophets 
 9* 
 
102 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 of Baal to declare the whole a trick, for the 
 altar was flowing with water. 
 
 All is now ready ; the disappointed proph- 
 ets and Israel's thousands are looking anx- 
 iously on. The blazing fireball is hanging 
 over the waves below, and already the sea 
 breeze is stealing landward, for the time of 
 the evening sacrifice has arrived. Elijah 
 advances towards the altar, with uncovered 
 head and solemn countenance, but with no 
 hesitation or alarm in his glance. His step 
 is firm and his eye serene, as he moves 
 across the space between him and the spec- 
 tators. Yet, methinks, I hear a voice say- 
 ing, " Gird now thyself, Elijah, for thine 
 hour has come. Thy God and the God of 
 Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, thou hast 
 cast on one bold issue. Woe for thee, and 
 woe for Israel, if thou failest!" 
 
 But he shall not fail. He kneels and prays. 
 There is no confession of sin, no pleading for 
 pardon, for he is not asking for blessings on 
 his own head, or on that of his country : he 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 103 
 
 is asking God to vindicate himself, and make 
 good his given vpord. Tliere seems no ne- 
 cessity for strong crying and earnest suppli- 
 cation ; yet in that sudden outburst of '■'■Hear 
 me, O Lard^ hear me!" I see the mighty 
 wrestling of a mighty soul. He prays fer- 
 vently, but solemnly. There is no contortion, 
 no assumed tone or manner, as w^ith uplift- 
 ed hands he exclaims, " Lord God of Abra- 
 ham, Isaac, and of Israel, let it be known 
 this day that thou art god in israel, and 
 that i am thy servant, and that i have 
 
 DONE ALL THESE THINGS AT THY WORD. HeAR 
 
 ME, OH Lord, hear me, that this people 
 
 MAY KNOW that THOU ART THE LoRD GoD, 
 AND THAT THOU HAST TURNED THEIR HEART 
 
 BACK AGAIN." He ccased, and lo! from the 
 cloudless heavens fire fell like falling light- 
 ning, and the bullock smoked amid the 
 water that flooded it, and a swift vapor rose 
 from the top of Carmel, and all was over ! 
 There lay the ashes of the sacrifice, and 
 there the dry trenches, and there, too, knelt 
 
104 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 the awe-struck prophet. For a moment the 
 silence of the grave hung over that solitary 
 mountain, as the astonished multitude hid 
 their faces in the earth, but the next mo- 
 ment there arose a murmur, swelling gradu- 
 ally louder and louder like the gathering 
 roar of the sea, tUl, drowning every other 
 sound, it rolled gloriously towards heaven — 
 " The Lord he is the God; Jehovah h£ is the 
 God!" 'Twas done; Truth had triumphed, 
 and Israel was saved. 
 
 But Elijah had not yet fulfilled his mis- 
 sion. Turning sternly to the people, he bade 
 them seize the prophets of Baal, and not let 
 one of them escape. Prayers and entrea- 
 ties were alike in vain. Though they crowd 
 around the just now despised exile with 
 tears, he has no pity for their fate. God and 
 his country demand their death, and down 
 the mountain slope they are dragged by the 
 indignant people, and there, by the margin of 
 the brook Kishon, Elijah slays them, and the 
 parched earth drinks up their blood. 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 105 
 
 Still the prophet's work is not done ; his 
 country's enemies are destroyed, but her suf- 
 ferings are not allayed. The crowd may re- 
 turn home, but he, accompanied by his ser- 
 vant, reascends Carmel. Standing on the 
 now silent and solitary summit, in sight of the 
 forsaken altars, he surveys for a moment the 
 heavens above him, and the scene around him ; 
 the sun is just bathing his burning forehead in 
 the western wave ere he sinks to rest, and 
 not a cloud is on the brazen sky. Casting 
 himself upon the earth, and burying his face 
 between his knees, again he prays. But 
 where is the lofty bearing and stern aspect 
 that just now awed the people, as he brought 
 fire from heaven'? Gone with the fulfil- 
 ment of his task. He was then defending 
 the God of Israel before scoifers and idola- 
 ters, and his voice and aspect became his 
 great mission. But now he is pleading for 
 pardon for his suffering, sinful country ; he 
 is entreating God to take his erring people 
 once more to his arms, and pour upon them 
 
106 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 his blessings, and he is in the dust, as it be- 
 comes such a mediator. For tliree years 
 and a half not a drop of' rain has fallen in 
 Israel, and he now beseeches the Lord to 
 water the earth and stay the famine and 
 woe of the land. 
 
 As he closed his prayer, he bade his ser- 
 vant go and look towards the sea. He 
 obeyed, and returned, saying, " I see noth- 
 ing." Again the prophet poured his suppli- 
 cations into the bosom of the God of Jacob, 
 and again sent his servant to see if there 
 were signs of rain Again he returned as 
 before. Still Elijah's faith did not falter. 
 Again he prayed, and again sent his servant, 
 till the seventh time. But the seventh time 
 he came back, saying, " There is a little 
 cloud rising out of the sea, like a man's 
 hand." It was enough — Faith was satisfied, 
 and Elijah arose and said to his servant, 
 " Go up, say unto Ahab, Prepare thy chariot, 
 and get thee down that the rain stop thee 
 not." He heard the sound of the coming 
 
MOUNT CARMEL. 107 
 
 storm before it arrived, aye, heard it long 
 before, in the silence that followed the death 
 of the prophets. And, lo ! what a sight ap- 
 peared from Mount Carmel. Dark and an- 
 gry clouds began to roll up the scorching 
 heavens, — the sun went down in gloom, — 
 the sea rose and shook itself to meet the 
 coming tempest, — fierce lightnings traversed 
 the angry masses, as they pushed them- 
 selves upward, — the thunder came muttering 
 over the Mediterranean, as it rolled its vexed 
 waters against the base of the mountain, — 
 the sound of wind and rain was borne land- 
 ward, and day was turned into sudden night, 
 as the storm burst on the land of Israel. The 
 thirsty and barren earth again smiled in ver- 
 dure, and the long curse was removed. What 
 a day of terror and of grace that had been to 
 Israel, and as the prophet lay that night and 
 listened to the descending rain, methinks his 
 heart swelled with deeper gratitude than 
 ever before to the God of his fathers. 
 
 Mount Carmel still stands by the sea, and 
 
108 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 overlooks the same prospect, but the people 
 of God are no longer there. Priest and 
 prophet have disappeared, and there is no 
 Elijah now to plead in their behalf. A 
 Turkish mosque stands where arose the al- 
 tar of God, and the Muezzin's voice rings 
 where arose the prayer of the prophet. 
 
.• f "' J ; 
 
 t'ST <.\Aai^l 
 
M/ 
 
 ,.■ '*W. 
 
 ;:N%r UE B 
 
 Lebanon is not an isolated peak, but a 
 chain of mountains running through the 
 south of Syria. There are two grand ridges 
 rising above the rest, called Libanus or Leb- 
 anon, and Antelibanus. The name signifies 
 white mountain, and was given to this range 
 from the white appearance its snow-capt 
 summits present, and also perhaps from the 
 limestone rocks that form it. The highest 
 mountain in . Syria, covered with snow both 
 in summer and winter, Lebanon naturally 
 became a marked object to the Israelites in 
 that warm climate. Still it lias been conse- 
 crated by no great event — no manifestation 
 
 of God there has made its soil sacred to the 
 
 10 
 
110 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 pilgrim, and it has not that claim to a place 
 among: the list of immortal mountains that 
 others possess. It is, nevertheless, mention- 
 ed so frequently in the Bible, and spoken of 
 with such delight by prophets and kings, and, 
 indeed, used so often by God himself to illus- 
 trate his declarations to his people, that we 
 have come to regard it as a holy mountain. 
 Besides, the wood for Solomon's temple was 
 cut from its slopes, and many of the sacred 
 utensUs were made from its fragrant cedars. 
 Christ and the church are also likened to 
 Lebanon, from their fruitfulness, and fra- 
 grance, and glory. Even Jerusalem was 
 sometimes called Lebanon, because the tem- 
 ple and the houses were built almost en- 
 tirely of its cedars. 
 
 The Lebanon range furnished several 
 peaks more or less elevated, and though the 
 highest was usually white with snow, those 
 more depressed were covered with vine- 
 yards, while fountains leaped from the de- 
 clivities and cool brooks wound through the 
 
MOUNT LEBANON. Ill 
 
 fragrant fields that carpeted their sides — now 
 glowing in the sunlight as they crept over 
 the landscape, and now lost amid the green 
 shrubbery that clustered on the shores, until 
 they at length reached the plain and flowed 
 away towards the streams of Abana, and 
 Parphar, and, Jordan. As the traveller ap- 
 proached Lebanon, the cool breeze that fell 
 from its summit made him forget the heat 
 and toil of the way, and bless the heights 
 that poured such freshness and health into 
 his path. And as he lifted his eyes, 
 the scene before him ravished his senses. 
 All along the hill-sides, and over the rolling 
 heights, spread away vineyards in every di- 
 rection, while here and there, half hid amid 
 the grapes, peeped forth the vine-dresser's 
 cottage, and clustering trees, and babbling 
 streams, and all the beauty and verdure of 
 an eastern clime seemed to have been gath- 
 ered there in their greatest richness and 
 variety, while to finish the picture, endless 
 forests of cedars waved along the top — a 
 
112 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 green crown to all the beauty below, making 
 it indeed " the glory of Lebanon." Those 
 lofty cedars caught the first sunlight in the 
 land of Israel, and on their green tops the 
 last beams of day lingered long after deep 
 shadow filled the plains below. The fruitful 
 fields and pure water, and spring-like verdure 
 and coolness, made the mountain known even 
 beyond the boundaries of Canaan. Moses 
 had heard of it and longed to see it before 
 he died.. " I pray thee," said he, as he be- 
 sought the Lord to let him enter Canaan, 
 " let me go over and see the good land that 
 is beyond Jordan, and that goodly mountain, 
 Lebanonr 
 
 One who has never travelled in a warm 
 climate and a desert country, cannot appre- 
 ciate the feelings of the inhabitants towards 
 a forest-covered and fruitful mountain. By 
 the coolness it imparts to the atmosphere, 
 the pure water it sends to the vales, and the 
 wood it furnishes to the builder, it is viewed 
 one of the greatest blessings of the land. 
 
MOUNT LEBANON. 113 
 
 Such was Lebanon when Jerusalem was 
 in its glory. David sang of it — to have " his 
 fruit shake like Lebanon " was to make one 
 rich in blessings. To " grow like d cedar in 
 Lebanon" was to flourish in unchecked 
 vigor. Solomon, too, in less exalted strains, 
 sung of the " wood of Lebanon," of its fra- 
 grance and its streams. The countenance 
 of " his beloved was like Lebanon," and 
 "excellent as the cedars." Isaiah thought 
 of it in his moments of highest rapture, and 
 as he foresaw the increase of the church of 
 God, he bursts forth, " the glory of Lebanon 
 shall come unto thee, the fir-tree, and the 
 pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify 
 the place of my sanctuary, and I will make 
 the place of my feet glorious." Jeremiah 
 piakes God compare the royal house of 
 Judah to Lebanon, saying, " thou art Gilead 
 unto me, and the head of Lebanon." Hosea 
 in predicting the future greatness of Israel 
 exclaims, " thus saith the Lord, I will be as 
 
 dew unto Israel ; he shall grow as the lily 
 10* 
 
114 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 and cast forth his roots as Lebanon. His 
 branches shall spread, and his beauty shall 
 be as the olive tree, and his smell as Leb- 
 anon. They that dwell under his shadow 
 shall return, they shall revive as the corn 
 and grow as the vine, the scent thereof shall 
 be as the wine of Lebanon." Thus did the 
 poet and the prophet make use of Lebanon 
 to illustrate the truths of heaven, consecra- 
 .ting its name, if not itself, the world over. 
 
 The forests of cedars that covered its 
 heights must have been well nigh exhaust- 
 less, for not only was the temple built from 
 them, and most of Jerusalem itself, but it 
 furnished all the timber for shipping to the 
 Tyrians and Sidonians, then the greatest 
 commercial nations on the globe. Here too, 
 the Assyrians and Chaldeans, when they 
 overran Syria, Canaan, and Phenicia, ob- 
 tained their wood to carry on their sieges; 
 and yet to expiate sin, " Lebanon is not suf- 
 ficient to burn, nor the beasts thereof suffi- 
 cient for a burnt-offering." 
 
MOUNT LEBANON. 115 
 
 But the glory of Lebanon is gone — the ce- 
 dars that covered it are fallen, and the na- 
 tion that crowded at its base is peeled and 
 scattered over the earth. The curse of the 
 Holy One has fallen upon it, and the proph- 
 ecy that "Lebanon should fall" and her 
 " tall cedars be cut down," has been fulfilled. 
 Of all her ancient groves, but few now re- 
 main, and they are bereft of their former 
 glory. Mere monuments of the past, just 
 sufficient by contrast to make the desolation 
 complete, they arrest the eye of the traveller 
 only to move his heart with sorrow. 
 
 Villages are still scattered over the heights, 
 and the vine-dresser's voice is still heard as 
 of old, but all else how changed ! Innumer- 
 able convents dot the sides of the ancient 
 pride of Israel, and the Maronite is the chief 
 dweller there. The terraced vineyards are 
 beautiful along the slopes, and the great 
 " cedar grove" belting the highest summit 
 of the mountain, together with the ruins of 
 ancient temples slowly crumbling back to 
 
116 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 dust, are worthy of the pilgrim's toil. But, 
 alas, the ancient shrine is shattered, and Ma- 
 hometan rites have taken the place of the 
 Hebrew's prayer and sacrifice. 
 
 From the sea, Lebanon is still glorious to 
 behold. Rising ten thousand feet in the 
 heavens, it rolls its white and ancient peaks 
 along the sky, as if it constituted the outer 
 wall of the earth. Running from the north- 
 east to the south-west, it stretches from op- 
 posite Damascus to the plains of Esdraelon, 
 into which it seems to sink. The great land- 
 mark of that country, it stands unwasted by 
 the ravages of time, a silent witness of the 
 truth of revelation, and the fulfilment of 
 prophecy. Nations may be bom and die, at 
 its base cities sink and rise, and the records 
 of human history fail ; yet so long as the 
 Bible remains, Lebanon shall stand as one 
 of its witnesses — a perpetual memento of de- 
 parted glory. Around its hallowed form 
 rests an atmosphere of beauty, and to the 
 
MOUNT LEBANON. 117 
 
 end of time the traveller, pausing at its base, 
 shall sigh as he remembers how the poets 
 of Israel struck their lyres, and the prophets 
 of God breathed forth their numbers in its 
 praise. 
 
Perhaps there is no name in human his- 
 tory the mention of which awakens so many 
 thrilling associations as that of Zion. It not 
 only represents the ancient Jewish church, 
 and all that was dear and holy in her, but it 
 is applied to the Christian church at the pres- 
 ent day. Confined to no sect and no clime, 
 and no language ; it embraces in its catholici- 
 ty all who love God, binding them in one en- 
 dearing epithet together to the end of time. 
 " Zion !" there is something sad as well as 
 delightful in the word, and the heart pauses 
 over it with a sigh half of regret and half of 
 affection, for the past, while its mournful his- 
 tory, rises to view. Zion has had tears as 
 
MOUNT ZION. 119 
 
 well as raptures, suffering as i^ell as joy, and 
 her note of lamentation has arisen as often 
 as her song of thanksgiving. He who has 
 kept a record of her tears knows full well 
 her conflicts and her trials, and that from the 
 tiine of her toilsome flight through the wil- 
 derness and desert to the land of Canaan till 
 now, she has been a stranger and sojourner 
 in a world of wicked men. Now scattered 
 to the four winds of heaven, her children 
 sad captives and her home the prey of the 
 spoiler, she has wept unavailing tears at the 
 feet of her spoilers ; and now rent by inward 
 dissensions and secret foes, she has commit- 
 ted suicide around her own altars. But still 
 her very dust has been precious in the eyes 
 of him who hath formed her for himself ; and 
 out of the most hopeless bondage, from deep- 
 est ruin, he has again called her, and adorned 
 her with robes of beauty, and put a crown 
 of glory on her head, and made her enemies 
 to flee before her. Amid the amazement of 
 those who believed her ruin complete, and 
 
120 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 the astonishment of her friends, a voice has 
 been heard to say, 
 
 " Zion still is well beloved." 
 
 The literal Mount Zion was one of the 
 hills on Avhich Jerusalem was built. It stood 
 near Mount Moriah, where Abraham offered 
 up Isaac to the Lord, and witnessed that 
 greatest triumph of hum; n faith ; and centu- 
 ries afterwards, when the temple covered 
 the summit of the former, it formed the heart 
 and strength of the city. Situated at the 
 southern extremity, it rose above every other 
 part of Jerusalem, and came in time to stand 
 for the city itself. At first it seems strange 
 that Zion should have become a word filled 
 with such endearing associations to the Jews. 
 They could never let it go from them 
 when speaking of their city. If her strength 
 as a fortress was spoken of, the language 
 was, " Walk about Zion, and go round about 
 her; tell the towers thereof: mark ye well 
 her bulwarks, and consider her palaces ;" — 
 
MOUNT ZION. 121 
 
 if her elevation, it was, " The holy hill of 
 Zion." God's affection for his people was 
 expressed by his love for Zion, " He loveth 
 the ga,tes of Zion," " The Lord hath chosen 
 Zion." As if this were not enough, they and 
 their city together are called " Daughter of 
 Zion." Occupied by the son of Jesse, it be- 
 came the " City of David," the representa- 
 tive of all that was dear and cherished in Is- 
 rael. Hence it was called also the " Holy 
 hill of Zion, whither the tribes went up, the 
 tribes of the Lord unto i^e testimony of Is- 
 rael." It was " God's hill, in which it de- 
 lighted him to dwell." Thus every thing 
 conspired to render " Zion " the spell- word 
 of the nation, and on its summit the heart 
 of Israel seemed to lie and throb. While it 
 remained unshaken by its foes, hope and joy 
 reigned in every bosom, but when the feet 
 of the spoiler trod its sacred top, and his 
 conquering troops swept over it, a cry of de- 
 spair went up around its towers. 
 
 How often the name is on the lips of Da- 
 11 
 
122 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 vid ; and every string of his harp seems 
 tuned to utter " Zion." In a burst of lofty- 
 enthusiasm, carried away by a sudden trans- 
 port as he contemplates its glory and 
 strength, he exclaims^ " Beautiful for situa- 
 tion, the joy of the ichole earth is Mount Zdon ; 
 God is known in her palaces for a refuge. 
 Let Mount Zion rejoice, let the daughters of 
 Judah he glad, for this God is our God for 
 ever and ever." 
 
 But perhaps there is no exhibition of the 
 love the Hebrews bore for it so touching as 
 the reply they made when captives in Baby- 
 lon, to those who required of them a song. 
 " The joy of the earth" had been ravaged, 
 and that " holy hill," so " beautiful for situ- 
 ation" laid desolate by the enemy. Its pal- 
 aces were broken down, and a heap of ruins 
 alone marked the spot where the " City of 
 David" arose. On its top Israel's thousands 
 had stood and battled for its safety. Their 
 fearful war-cry had rung along its streets, 
 as the banner of David rose and fell in the 
 
MOUNT ZION. 123 
 
 doubtful fight, till borne back and over- 
 whelmed, leaving thousands of coi-pses as 
 bloody testimonials of the desperate conflict, 
 they at length yielded to numbers and Jeru- 
 salem fell. A multitude of captives graced 
 the triumphal entrance of the victors into 
 Babylon, and the city shook to the shouts of 
 welcome. But the pageantry was soon for- 
 gotten, and the prisoners became objects only 
 of idle curiosity as they moved sadly along 
 the streets, or sat in groups under the trees of 
 the public walks. Methinks I see that little 
 band, as strolling one day through the city 
 they sat down by its fountains and listened 
 to the miu-mur of the streams that swept by. 
 The scene was beautiful, and it reminded 
 them of the hill of Zion where they had so 
 often strayed — the home of their hearts — 
 never to be seen again. As they thus sat 
 and conversed in their native tongue, filled 
 with sad remembrances, — their neglected 
 harps hanging on the willows — the heartless 
 and curious passed by, and stopped to view 
 
124 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 their strange apparel and listen to their still 
 stranger language. As they saw their harps 
 hanging beside them they asked for a native 
 song. The hearts of the captives were sad 
 enough before, but this sudden recalling of 
 the joys of the past was too much for their 
 overburdened feelings, and a burst of tears 
 was the only answer, as they shook their 
 heads in mournful silence. 
 
 That day of bitterness they could never 
 forget, and whenever memory recalled it the 
 heart seemed to live over again its hour of 
 woe, and they said, " By the rivers of Baby- 
 lon there we sat down, yea, we wept when 
 we remembered Zion. We hung our harps 
 upon the willows in the midst thereof. For 
 there they that carried us away captive re- 
 quired of us a song, and they that wasted us 
 asked for mirth, saying, Sing us one of the 
 songs of Zion. How shall we sing the 
 Lord's song in a strange land. If 1 forget 
 thee, Oh Jerusalem, let my right hand forget 
 her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let 
 
MOUNT ZION. 125 
 
 my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth if 
 I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy." 
 They did not forget her, and the city of Da- 
 vid once more rose over the hill of Zion, and 
 the banner of Israel again floated from its 
 heights, for God had remembered her tears 
 and forgiven her sins. 
 
 Years passed, and though visited by mis- 
 fortune and ruin for its departures from the 
 Lord, Zion still arose in its glory and strength. 
 But at length its long line of kings disappear- 
 ed — the Roman occupied it, and the eagles of 
 Caesar took the place of the banner of David. 
 Still Mount Zion stood, beautiful as of old, 
 the pride of the conqueror ; but its cup of in- 
 iquity was fast filling to the brim. Shiloh 
 had come, and the rejected Saviour, as he 
 overlooked the city, wept in view of its ap- 
 proaching doom. Tliere was Mount Moriah 
 lifting the temple on high, whose glorious 
 form dazzled the eyes of the beholder as the 
 sunbeams fell upon it; and there, higher 
 
 yet. Mount Zion, with its countless palaces 
 11* 
 
126 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 and domes and towers of strength, before 
 him. His heart yearned over the " glory of 
 the earth," and the daughter of Zion looked 
 beautiful upon her throne of hills ; and as he 
 thought of the past — of her toils and suffer- 
 ings — of her former faithfulness, and all that 
 God had done for her, words of deepest love 
 were heard to fall from his lips. But amid 
 them was also heard the startling language, 
 '' Behold your house is left unto you desolate." 
 The last drop in the cup of crime, the 
 crowning guilt at length came, — Zion cru- 
 cified her Saviour. Then the long delayed 
 curse fell, and Roman legions girdled the 
 city. Mount Zion became the scene of 
 the severest strife that had ever wasted it, 
 and of the keenest suflFerings its crimes had 
 ever brought upon it. Although a troop of 
 flaming seraphs had stooped on the temple, 
 and with the words " let us depart," wheeled 
 away to heaven again, and chariots of fire 
 had been seen jostling against each other in 
 the evening heavens, and a flaming sword 
 
MOUNT ZION. 127 
 
 been suspended over the city, and the woe 
 of the denouncing prophet heard along its 
 walls, still the doomed inhabitants believed 
 them not as omens of evil. Under their an- 
 cient banner they once more rallied for the 
 conflict, and for a long time Mount Zion 
 stood like a tower of strength amid her foes. 
 Beating back the tide of battle from her 
 sides, she proved worthy of her olden re- 
 nown. Standing shoulder to shoulder on 
 that glorious hill-top, the tens of thousands 
 of Israel's warriors presented an unbroken 
 front to the foe, and their shout went up 
 as strong and terrible as when Joshua led 
 them on to victory. " Zion shall be ploughed 
 as afield, and Jerusalem shall become heaps P^ 
 Impossible ! " Walk about Zion and go 
 round about her," " mark her bulwarks, tell 
 the towers thereof, consider her palaces," 
 number if ye can her warriors, proud of 
 their strength and confident in their re- 
 sources. But the decree has gone forth, 
 " ZA(m shall be ploughed as afield." Famine 
 
128 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 is stronger than the arm of the warrior, and 
 inward dissensions more wasting than the 
 sword of the enemy. The banner of Israel 
 still floats in the breeze, but it waves over 
 the blood of her children. Pestilence has 
 entered the gates, and the groans of the dy- 
 ing rise from every house. Bloated forms 
 are seen staggering round the empty market 
 places, chewing wisps of straw and leather 
 for food, and falling dead in their footsteps. 
 Despairing eyes, and wan and haggard faces 
 stare from every window, and corpses are 
 hurried in crowds over tiie walls, till even the 
 enemy turn away from the fetid air. The 
 strong fall on the weak and tear them asun- 
 der, to get the morsel they have swallowed, 
 and mothers devour even their own offsprmg. 
 The thunder of engines is heard against the 
 walls without, and the clash of steel mingles 
 in the wild confusion. Yet even amid this 
 terror and woe, Zion fights against herself 
 and strives to swell the slaughter of her own 
 children. At length the last day and last 
 
MOUNT ZION. 129 
 
 hour come — the temple is on fire and blazes 
 balefuUy up from Mount Moriah — the eagles 
 of Caesar flash along the crowded streets, and 
 the shrieks of the flying and the shout of the 
 struggling, mingling with the crackling of 
 the flames, rise over the city. Zion at 
 length yields, the last strong-hold is taken, 
 and the spoiler roams unchecked through 
 the streets. " Jerusalem is in heaps," de- 
 struction has done her worst, and silence 
 reigns amid the desolation. 
 
 Their task at length accomplished, the 
 victors take up their line of march, followed 
 by the long train of captives, and depart. 
 As they ascend the last slope that overlooks 
 Jerusalem, that mournful band pause and 
 turn to give a farewell look to Mount Zion. 
 As they behold it strewed with burning ruins 
 and think of their desolate homes never to 
 be rebuilt or revisited, and see but a cloud 
 of smoke ,where the glorious temple stood, 
 tears of unavailing sorrow stream from theii 
 
130 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 eyes, and a " note of lamentation swells upon 
 the breeze." 
 
 Years have passed by, and the plough- 
 share is driven over the top of Zion. Where 
 its towers and palaces stood grain waves in 
 the passing wind, or ruins overlaying each 
 other attest the truth of the Word of God. 
 The Arab spurs his steed along the forsa- 
 ken streets, or scornfully stands on Mount 
 Zion and surveys the forsaken city of God. 
 
 But the promise is still sure— Zion is not 
 forgotten, nor is her glory gone. The church 
 of God still lives and flourishes in more than 
 her ancient beauty. Kingdoms may rise and 
 fall like waves along the sea, and the strong- 
 est monuments of human skill crumble to 
 dust, and the earth itself change places, Zion 
 is still secure. No foe can finally prevail 
 against her, nor even time, under whose cor- 
 roding tooth all things disappear, touch her 
 life. She has brighter palaces than those 
 which adorned Jerusalem, and firmer towers 
 and bulwarks than those built by human 
 
MOUNT ZION, 131 
 
 hands. Unseen warriors hover axound her 
 battlements — and the banner over her shall 
 float triumph a!ntly amid the chaos of a crum- 
 bling world. There is also a Mount Zion in 
 heaven, covered with harpers, and the re- 
 deemed in their white vestures are there, and 
 the song they sing has no dying cadence. Its 
 top is crowned with a more glorious temple 
 that ever adorned an earthly city, and there 
 nothing that " can hurt or make afraid" shall 
 ever enter. 
 
What strange contrasts this earth of ours 
 presents. It seems to be the middle spot be- 
 tween heaven and hell, and to partake of the 
 character of both. Beings from both are 
 found moving over its surface, and scenes 
 from both are constantly occurring upon it. 
 The glory from one and the midnight shades 
 from the other meet along its bosom, and the 
 song of angels and the shriek of fiends go up 
 from the same spot. Noonday and midnight 
 are not more opposite than the scenes that 
 are constantly passing before our eyes. The 
 temple of God stands beside a brothel, and 
 the place of prayer is separated only by a 
 single dwelling from the " hell" of the gam- 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 133 
 
 bier. Truth and falsehood walk side by side 
 through our streets, and vice and virtue meet 
 and pass every hour of the day. The hut of 
 the starving stands in the shadow of the pal- 
 ace of the wealthy, and the carriage of Dives 
 every day throws the dust of its glittering 
 wheels over the tattered garments of Lazarus. 
 Health and sickness lie down in the same 
 apartment; joy and agony look out of the 
 same window ; and hope and despair dwell 
 under the same roof. The cry of the new- 
 bom infant and the groan of the dyii-g rise 
 together from the same dwelling ; the funeral 
 procession treads close on the heels of the 
 bridal party, and the tones of the lute and 
 viol have scarcely died away before the re- 
 quiem for the dead comes swelling after. 
 Oh! the beautiful and deformed, the pure 
 and corrupt, joy and sorrow, ecstacies and 
 agonies, life and death, are strangely blent 
 on this restless planet of ours. 
 
 But the past and future present as strange 
 
 contrasts as the present. What different 
 12 
 
134 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 events have transpired on the same spot. 
 Where the smoke of the Indian's wigwam 
 arose, and the stealthy tread of the wolf and 
 panther was heard over the autumn leaves 
 at twilight, the population of New York now 
 surges along. Where once Tyre the queen 
 of the sea stood, fishermen are spreading 
 their nets on the desolate rocks, and the 
 bright waves are rolling over its marble col- 
 umns. In the empty apartments of Edom 
 the fox makes his den, and the dust of the 
 desert is sifting over the forsaken ruins of 
 Palmyra. The owl hoots in the ancient halls 
 of kings, and the wind of the summer night 
 makes sad music through the rents of once 
 gorgeous palaces. The Arab spurs his steed 
 along the streets of ancient Jerusalem, or 
 scornfully stands and curls his lip at the 
 pilgrim pressing wearily to the sepulchre 
 of the Saviour. The Muezzin's voice rings 
 over the bones of the prophets, and the 
 desert wind heaps the dust above the foun- 
 dations of the seven churches of Asia. Oh, 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 135 
 
 how good and evil, light and darkness, chase 
 each other over the world. 
 
 Forty-seven years ago, a form was seen 
 standing on Mount Tabor with which the 
 world has since become familiar. It was a 
 bright spring morning, and as he sat on his 
 steed in the clear sunlight, his eye rested on 
 a scene in the vale below, which was sub- 
 lime and appalling enough to quicken the 
 pulsations of the calmest heart. That form 
 was Napoleon Bonaparte, and the scene be- 
 fore him the fierce and terrible " Battle of 
 Mount Tabor." From Nazareth, where the 
 Saviour once trod, Kleber had marched with 
 three thousand French soldiers forth into the 
 plain, when lo, at the foot of Mount Tabor 
 he saw the whole Turkish army drawn up 
 in order of battle. Fifteen thousand infantry 
 and twelve thousand splendid cavalry moved 
 down in majestic strength on this baud of 
 three thousand French. Kleber had scarcely 
 time to throw his handful of men into squares, 
 with the cannon at the angles, before those 
 
136 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 twelve thousand horse, making the earth 
 smoke and thunder as they came, burst in a 
 headlong gallop upon them. But round those 
 steady squares rolled a fierce devouring fire, 
 emptying the saddles of those wild horsemen 
 with frightful rapidity, and strewing the earth 
 with the bodies of riders and steeds together 
 Again and again did those splendid squad- 
 rons wheel, re-form and charge with deafen- 
 ing shouts, while their uplifted and flashing 
 scimitars gleamed like a forest of steel through 
 the smoke of battle : but that same wasting 
 fire received them ; till those squares seemed 
 bound by a girdle of flame, so rapid and con- 
 stant were the discharges. Before their cer- 
 tain and deadly aim, as they stood fighting 
 for existence, the charging squadrons fell so 
 fast that a rampart of dead bodies was soon 
 formed around them. Behind this embank- 
 ment of dead men and horses this band of 
 warriors stood and fought for six dreadful 
 hours, and was still steadily thinning the 
 ranks of the enemy, when Napoleon de- 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 137 
 
 bouched with a single division on Mount 
 Tabor, and turned his eye below. What a 
 scene met his gaze. The whole plain was 
 filled with marching columns and charging 
 squadrons of wildly galloping steeds, while 
 the thunder of cannon and fierce rattle of 
 musketry, amid which now and then was 
 heard the blast of thousands of trumpets, and 
 strains of martial music, filled all the air. 
 The smoke of battle was rolling furiously 
 over the hosts, and all was confusion and 
 chaos in his sight. Amid the tWenty-seven 
 thousand Turks that crowded the plain and 
 enveloped their enemy like a cloud, and amid 
 the incessant discharge of artillery and mus- 
 ketry. Napoleon could tell where his own 
 brave troops were struggling, only by the 
 steady simultaneous voliies which showed 
 how discipline was contending with the 
 wild valor of overpowering numbers. The 
 constant flashes from behind that rampart of 
 dead bodies were like spots of flame on the 
 
 tumultuous and chaotic field. Napoleon de- 
 12* 
 
138 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 scended from Mount Tabor with his little 
 band, while a single twelve-pounder, fired 
 from the heights, told the wearied Kleber 
 that he was rushing to the rescue. Then for 
 the first time he took the- offensive, and 
 pouring his enthusiastic followers on the 
 foe, carried death and terror over the field. 
 Thrown into confusion, and trampled under 
 foot, that mighty army rolled turbulently 
 back towards the Jordan, where Murat was 
 anxiously waiting to mingle in the fight. 
 Dashing with his cavalry among the disor- 
 dered ranks, he sabred them down without 
 mercy, and raged like a lion amid the prey. 
 This chivalric and romantic warrior declared 
 that the remembrance of the scenes that once 
 transpired on Mount Tabor, and on these 
 thrice consecrated spots, came to him in the 
 hottest of the fight, and nerved him with ten- 
 fold courage. 
 
 As the sun went down over the plains of 
 Palestine, and twilight shed its dim ray over 
 the rent and trodden and dead-covered field, 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 139 
 
 a sulphurous cloud hung around the summit 
 of Mount Tabor. The smoke of battle had 
 settled there where once the cloud of glory 
 rested, while groans and shrieks and cries 
 rent the air. Nazareth, Jordan and Mount 
 Tabor ! what spots for battle-fields ! 
 
 Roll back twenty centuries and again 
 view that hill. The day is bright and beau- 
 tiful as then, and the same rich oriental land- 
 scape is smiling in the same sun. There is 
 Nazareth with its busy population, — the 
 same Nazareth from which Kleber marched 
 his army : and there is Jordan rolling its 
 bright waters along, — the same Jordan along 
 whose banks charged the glittering squad- 
 rons of Murat's cavalry : and there is Mount 
 Tabor, — the same on which Bonaparte stood 
 with his cannon : and the same beautiful 
 plain where rolled the smoke of battle, and 
 struggled thirty thousand men in mortal 
 combat. But how different is the scene that 
 is passing there. The Son of God stands on 
 that height and casts his eye over the quiet 
 
140 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 valley through which Jordan winds its silver 
 current. Three friends are beside Him ; 
 they have walked together up the toilsome 
 way, and now the four stand, mere specks 
 on the distant summit. Far away to the 
 northwest shines the blue Mediterranean — 
 all around is the great plain of Esdraelon and 
 Galilee — eastward, the lake of Tiberias dots 
 the landscape, while Mount Carmel lifts its 
 naked summit in the distance. But the glo- 
 rious landscape at their feet is forgotten in a 
 subjimer scene that is passing before them. 
 The son of Mary — the carpenter of Nazareth 
 — the wandei'er with whom they have ate 
 and drank and travelled on foot many a 
 weary league, in all the intimacy of compan- 
 ions and friends, begins to change before 
 their eyes. Over his soiled and coarse gar- 
 ments is spreading a strange light, steadily 
 brightening into in tenser beauty, till that 
 form glows with such splendor that it seems 
 to waver to and fro and dissolve in the still 
 radiance. 
 
MOUNT TABOR. 141 
 
 The three astonished friends gaze on it in 
 speechless admiration, then turn to that fa- 
 miliar face. But lo, a greater change has 
 passed over it. The man has put on the 
 God, and that sad and solemn countenance 
 which has been so often seen stooping over 
 the couch of the dying, and entering the door 
 of the hut of poverty, and passing through the 
 streets of Jerusalem, and pausing by the 
 weary wayside — aye, bedewed with the tears 
 of pity, — now burns like the sun in his mid- 
 day splendor. Meekness has given way to 
 majesty — sadness to dazzling glory — the look 
 of pity to the grandeur of a God. The still 
 radiance of heaven sits on that serene brow, 
 and all around that divine form flows an at- 
 mosphere of strange and wondrous beauty. 
 Heaven has poured its brightness over that 
 consecrated spot, and on the beams of light 
 which glitter there, Moses and Elias have de- 
 scended; and, wrapped in the same shining 
 vestments, stand beside him. Wonder fol- 
 lows wonder, for those three glittering forms 
 
142 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 are talking with each other, and amid the 
 thrilling accents are heard the words " Mount 
 Olivet," " Calvary," the agony and the death 
 of the crucifixion. Peter, awe-struck and 
 overcome, feeling also the influence of that 
 heavenly atmosphere, and carried away by a 
 sudden impulse, says to Jesus, in low and 
 tremulous accents : '' It is good to be here ; let 
 us build three tabernacles ; one for thee, one 
 for Moses, and one for Elias." Confused by 
 the scene and dazzled by the splendor, he was 
 ignorant what he was saying. He knew not 
 the meaning of this sudden appearance, but 
 he knew that heaven was near and God re- 
 vealing himself, and he felt that some sacred 
 ceremony would be appropriate to the scene ; 
 and while his bewildered gaze was fixed on 
 the three forms before him, his unconscious 
 lips murmured forth the feelings of his heart. 
 No wonder a sudden fear came over him, 
 that paralyzed his tongue and crushed him 
 to the earth, when in the midst of his speech 
 he saw a cloud fall like a falling star from 
 
MOUNT TABORi 143 
 
 heaven, and, bright and dazzling, balance it- 
 self over those forms of light. Perhaps his 
 indiscreet interruption had brought this new 
 messenger down, and from its bosom the 
 thunder and flame of Sinai were to burst ; 
 and he fell on his face in silent terror. But 
 that cloud was only a canopy for its God, 
 and from its bright foldings came a voice, 
 saying, " This is my beloved Son, in whom 
 I am well pleased, hear ye Him." 
 
 How long the vision lasted we cannot tell, . 
 but all that night did Jesus, with his friends, 
 stay on that lonely mountain. Of the con- 
 versation that passed between them there 
 we know nothing: but little sleep, we im- 
 agine, visited their eyes that night ; and as 
 they sat on the high summit and watched 
 the stars, as they rose one after another 
 above the horizon, and gazed on the moon 
 as she poured her light over the dim and 
 darkened landscape, words were spoken that 
 seemed bom of heaven and truths never to 
 
144 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 be forgotten were uttered in the ears of the 
 subdued and reverent disciples. 
 
 Oh, how different is heaven and earth ! 
 Can there be a stranger contrast than the 
 Battle and Transfiguration of Mount Tabor ? 
 One shudders to think of Bonaparte and the 
 Son of God on the same mountain : one with 
 his wasting cannon by his side, and the other 
 with Moses and Elias just from heaven. 
 
 But no after desecration can destroy the 
 .first consecration of Mount Tabor ; for, bap- 
 tized with the glory of heaven, and honored 
 with the wondrous scene of the Transfigura- 
 tion, it stands a Sacred Mountain on the 
 earth. 
 
MOUNT© L>l V E t 
 
 The Mount of Olives stands just without 
 Jerusalem, over the little stream of Kedron. 
 Its height and magnitude would not entitle 
 it to the name of mountain as we use the 
 word ; but being called such in the Bible, 
 it belongs among the " Sacred Mountains." 
 In moral grandeur it towers above all the 
 preceding summits that rise along the hori- 
 zon of history. 
 
 It is difficult to recall any scene vividly 
 that has been so often described and so long 
 familiar to us as that which transpired on 
 the Mount of Olives. The mind is prepared 
 for every event in it, and hence cannot be 
 taken by surprise or held in suspense. But 
 
 13 
 
146 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 there are moments when the heart forgets 
 all that it has ever heard, and seems for the 
 first time to witness that night of suffering. 
 The indifference which long familiarity has 
 produced, disappears before rising emotion, 
 and that lonely hill-top — that midnight pray- 
 er — that piercing agony, with its bloody tes- 
 timonial, and the rude shock of Roman sol- 
 diers, all, all, swim before the swimming eye, 
 with the freshness of first sight, till the heart 
 thrills and throbs at the solemn spectacle. 
 
 But morally grand and moving as that 
 scene was, it caused but little talk in Jeru- 
 salem. The streets of the proud city were 
 filled with careless promenaders — parties of 
 pleasure Were assembled — dissipation and 
 revelry were on every side ; and the quiet of 
 the staid citizen's home was not interrupted 
 by the tragedy Mount Olivet was to witness. 
 Every thing moved on in its accustomed 
 way, when, in an obscure street, in the up- 
 per chamber of an inferior dwelling, a group 
 of coarse-clad men sat down to a table 
 
MOUNT OP OLIVES. 147 
 
 spread with the plainest fare. The rattling 
 of carriages and the hum of the mighty city 
 were unheeded by them, and you could see 
 by their countenances that some calamity 
 was impending over their heads. Few 
 words were spoken, and those few were 
 uttered in a subdued and saddened tone, that 
 always bespeaks grief at the heart. At the 
 head of the table sat one whose noble coun- 
 tenance proclaimed him chief there. He had 
 won the love of those simple-hearted men, 
 and now they sat grouped around him, ex- 
 pecting some sad news ; but oh, they were 
 unprepared for the startling declaration that 
 fell from those lips : " This night, one of you 
 shall betray me." " Is it I?" " Is it I?" ran 
 from lip to lip in breathless consternation. 
 At length all eyes centred on Judas, and he 
 rose and went away. 
 
 I will not speak of the conversation that 
 followed ; but amid words that thrilled every 
 heart was heard such language as, " This is 
 my blood shed formany ;" and as the bread 
 
148 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 crumbled beneath his fingers, " This is my 
 body;" — strange language, and awakening 
 strange sensations in the bewildered listen- 
 ers ; and a mournful sadness rested on every 
 face, as through the silent chamber rung 
 those tones of tenderness. 
 
 Gradually the great city sunk to rest, the 
 noise of wheels grew less and less, and only 
 now and then a solitary carriage went rum- 
 bling by. It was midnight, and from that 
 solitary chamber arose the voice of singing. 
 The victim at the altar — the sufferer by the 
 wheel, struck up a hymn at the moment of 
 sacrifice. Was there ever before a hymn 
 sung under such circumstances 1 
 
 Through the darkened streets those twelve 
 forms are slowly passing towards the walls 
 of the city, cared for and noticed only by the 
 police, whom the betrayer has put upon the 
 track. Kedron is passed, and they reach the 
 garden of Gethsemane. " Sit you here," says 
 Jesus, " while I go and pray yonder," and 
 taking with him only Peter and James and 
 
MOUNT OF OLIVES. 149 
 
 John, he ascended the slope of Olivet. As 
 they paused on the solit3,ry summit, the hu- 
 man heart threw off the restraint it had put 
 on its feelings, and burst forth in tones of in- 
 describable mournfulness, "My soul is exceed- 
 ing sorrmcful, even unto death ; stay here and 
 loatch with me." Every prop seemed falling 
 beside him, and in the deepening gloom and 
 dread that surrounded him, he reached out 
 for sympathy and aid. Then, as if recollect- 
 ing himself and the task before him, he 
 broke away even from those three remain- 
 ing friends, and they saw with speechless 
 grief and amazement his form disappear in 
 the darkness. 
 
 Jerusalem is sunk in slumber and secu- 
 rity, and naught but the tread of the watch- 
 man is heard along the streets. The disci- 
 ples in the garden of Gethsemane are quietly 
 sleeping below, and all is still and solemn, 
 as night ever is when left alone; and the 
 large luminous stars are shining down in 
 
 their wonted beauty. Kedron goes murmur- 
 13* 
 
150 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 ing by as if singing in its dreams, and the 
 olive trees rustle lo the passing breeze as if 
 their leaves were but half stirred from their 
 slumbers. It is night, most quiet night, with 
 all its accompaniments of beauty and of 
 loveliness. 
 
 But hark, from the summit of Mount Oli- 
 vet, rises a low and plaintive moan; and 
 there stretched on the dewy grass, his face 
 to the earth, are seen the dim outlines of a 
 human form. All is stiU around, save that 
 moan which rises in a deep perpetual mono- 
 tone, like the last cry of helpless suffering. 
 But listen again ; a prayer is ascending the 
 heavens : and what a prayer, and in what 
 tones it is uttered. Such accents never be- 
 fore rung on the ear of God or man : ^^ Father, 
 if it be 'possible, let this cup pass from me." 
 It is still again, and nature herself seems to 
 gasp for breath ; and lo, there arises another 
 voice in tones of resignation sweeter than 
 angels use, " Father, not my will but thine be 
 done." Oh, what inexpressible tenderness 
 
MOUNT OF OLIVES. 161 
 
 is poured in that word ^^ Father" — ^the very 
 passion and soul of love is breathed forth 
 in it. Wearied and worn, that tottering 
 form slowly rises and moves through the 
 gloom towards where the three friends 
 are sleeping — going in its humanity after 
 sympathy. The pressure is too great — the 
 sorrow and despair too deep, and the hu- 
 man heart reaches out imploringly for help. 
 " What, could you not icatch icith me one 
 hour?" falls on their slumberous ears, and 
 the lonely sufferer turns again to his solitude 
 and his woe. Prone on the earth he again 
 casts himself, and the wave comes back 
 with a heavier and a darker flow. Bursting 
 sighs, and groans that rend the heart again 
 startle the midnight air, and down those pale 
 cheeks the blood is trickling, and the dewy 
 grass turns red, as if a wounded man were 
 weltering there. The life-stream is flowing 
 from the crushed heart, as it trembles and 
 wrestles in the grasp of its mighty agony. 
 Woe and darkness, and horror inconceivable, 
 
152 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 indescribable, gather in fearful companion- 
 ship around that prostrate form, but still the 
 prayer goes up, and still the voice of resigna- 
 tion hovers amid the tumult like the breath 
 of God over a world in chaos, — ruling the 
 wild scene. 
 
 Oh, is this the form that a few days ago 
 stood on this same height and looked off on 
 Jerusalem sleeping below, while the sunlight 
 around, and the fragrant breezes loaded with 
 the scent of the pomegranate and vine, vis- 
 ited in kindness his brow, and the garden 
 smiled up in his face from beneath, and 
 garments were strewed before him, and 
 branches of palm waved around him, and 
 " HosANNA TO THE HiGHEST !" shook the hiin 
 Alas, what a change has passed over him ! 
 No hosannas greet his ear, but deep within 
 his soul are voices of terror and dismay, stri- 
 ving, but in vain, to shake his constancy or 
 darken his faith. 
 
 Christ arose from the earth he had mois- 
 tened with his blood, and stood beneath the 
 
 b 
 
MOUNT OF OLIVES. 153 
 
 stars, that still shone on as tranquilly as if 
 all unconscious of the scene that had tran- 
 spired in their light. Kedron still miu-mured 
 by, and the night air stirred the leaves as 
 gently as ever. All was sweet and tranquil^ 
 when torches were seen dancing to and fro 
 along the slopes of the hiU, and the heavy 
 tread of approaching feet was heard, and 
 rough voices broke the holy quiet of nature ; 
 and soon Roman helmets flashed through 
 the gloom, and swords glittered in the torch- 
 light, and a band of soldiers drew up before 
 the " man of sorrows." " Whom seek ye ?" fell 
 in languid and quiet accents on their ears. 
 "Jesus of Nazareth," was the short and 
 stern reply. "/ am he," answered them, 
 but in tones that had more of God than man 
 in them, for swords and torches sunk to the 
 earth at their utterance, and those mailed 
 warriors staggered back and fell like dead 
 'men. It was not the haggard and blood- 
 streaked face over which the torches shed 
 their sudden glare, that unnerved them so ; 
 
154 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 for they were used to scenes of violence and 
 of murder — it was the God speaking from 
 the man. 
 
 " But so it must be, that the Scriptures 
 may be fulfilled ;" and the betrayer and his 
 accomplices take up their fallen weapons, 
 and freed from the sudden awe that over- 
 whelmed them, close threateningly around 
 their unresisting victim. With their pris- 
 oner they clatter down the declivity of Oli- 
 vet, cross Kedron, and soon their heavy tread 
 resounds along the streets of Jerusalem as 
 they hurry on to the house of the high 
 priest. Why speak of the painful desertion 
 of his followers, sufficient of itself to break 
 a noble heart — of the rude treatment of the 
 brutal officers that guarded him, or of the 
 mockery of a trial, destitute even of the 
 forms of justice ! Why speak of Peter's 
 treachery, rebuked only by a sorrowful 
 look ; or of all or any of the shameful pro- 
 ceedings that made this last most terrible 
 
MOUNT OF OLIVKS. 155 
 
 night of the Son of God a fit prelude to the 
 crowning act of human wickedness! 
 
 The night wanes away — the morning, 
 the last dreadful morning approaches, and 
 the scenes of Mount Olivet are to disappear 
 before the fearful tragedy of Mount Cal- 
 vary. 
 
Mount Calvary is lord of the " Sacred 
 Mountains," and by its baptism of blood and 
 agony, its moral grandeur, and the intense 
 glory that beams from its summit, is worthy 
 to crown the immortal group. Its moral 
 height no man can measure, for though its 
 base is on the earth, its top is lost in the 
 heaven of heavens. The angels hover around 
 the dazzling summit, struggling in vain to 
 scale its highest point, which has never yet 
 been fanned by even an immortal wing. 
 The Divine eye alone embraces its length 
 and breadth, and depth and heighth. 
 
 What associations cluster around Mount 
 Calvary ! what mysteries hover there, and 
 
MOUNT CALVARY. 157 
 
 what revelations it makes to the awe-struck 
 beholder! Mount Calvary! at the mention 
 of that name the universe thrills with a new 
 emotion, and heaven trembles with a new 
 anthem, in which pity and exultation mingle 
 in strange, yet sweet accord. Glory and 
 brightness are on that hill-top, and shall be 
 to the end of time ; but there was a morning 
 when gloom and terror crowned it, and hea- 
 ven itself, all but God the Father, gazed on 
 it in wonder, if not in consternation. 
 
 The strange and painful scene in the gar- 
 den had passed by, and the shameful exami- 
 nation in the lighted chamber of the high 
 priest was over. Insult and contempt had 
 marked every step of the villainous proceed- 
 ings, till at length one wretch more impious 
 than the rest advanced and struck Christ in 
 the face. The cheek reddened to the blow, 
 but not with anger or shame ; yet methinks 
 as the sound of that buffet was borne on 
 high, there was a rustling of myriad wings, 
 
 as angels started from their listening atti- 
 14 
 
158 SACKED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 tude, waiting the thunderbolt that should 
 follow. 
 
 This too passed by, and also the second 
 mockery of a trial in Pilate's hall ; and the 
 uprisen sun was flashing down on the tow- 
 ers and domes of Jerusalem, and the vast 
 population was again abroad, thronging every 
 street. But a few took any interest in the 
 fate of Jesus of Nazareth, yet those few 
 were filled with the bitterest hate. The vic- 
 tim was now in their power — given up to 
 their will, and they commenced the bloody 
 scene they were to enact, by spitting in his 
 face and striking his unresisting cheek with 
 blow after blow. To give greater force to 
 their insults, they put a crown on his head, 
 made of thorns, and mocked him with sar- 
 castic words, and strove with fiendish skill 
 to irritate him into some sign of anger or 
 complaint. After having exhausted their in- 
 genuity, and failing in every endeavor, they 
 " led him away to be crucified." 
 
 It was a bright and beautiful day when a 
 
MOUNT CALVARY. 159 
 
 train passed out of the gates of Jerusalem, 
 and began to ascend the slope of Mount Cal- 
 vary. The people paused a moment as the 
 procession moved boisterously along the 
 streets, then making some careless remark 
 about the fate of fanatics, passed on. The 
 low and base of both sexes turned and joined 
 the company, and with jokes and laughter 
 hurried on to the scene of excitement. Qh, 
 how unsympathizing did nature seem : the 
 vine and fig-tree shed their fragrance around 
 — the breeze whispered nothing but love and 
 tranquillity, while the blue and bending arch 
 above seemed delighted with the beauty 
 and verdure the spread-out earth presented. 
 The birds were singing in the gardens, all 
 reckless of the roar and jar of the great city 
 near, as Jesus passed by in the midst of the 
 mob. His face was colorless as marble, save 
 where the blood trickled down his cheeks 
 from the thorns that pierced his temples ; 
 his knees trembled beneath him, though not 
 with fear, and he staggered on under the 
 
160 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 heavy timber that weighed him down, till at 
 last he fainted. Nature gave way, and he 
 sunk to the earth, while the hue of death 
 passed over his countenance. When the 
 sudden rush around him, caused by his fall, 
 had subsided, the cross, or rather cross-piece, 
 which he had carried was given to another, 
 and the procession again took up the line of 
 march. But suddenly, over the confused 
 noise of the throng and rude shouts of the 
 mob, there came a wild lament. Friends 
 were following after, whose sick, Christ had 
 healed, whose wounded hearts he had bound 
 up, and on whose pathway of darkness he 
 had shed the light of heaven ; and now they 
 lifted up their voices in one long, mourn- 
 ful cry. He turned at the sound and lis- 
 tened a moment, then murmured in mourn- 
 ful accents: " Weep not for me, hut weep 
 for yourselves and your children." Jerusa- 
 lem on fire suddenly rose on his vision, to- 
 gether with its famine-struck and bloated 
 population, staggering and dying around the 
 
MOUNT CALVARY. 161 
 
 empty market-places — the heaps of the dead 
 that loaded the air with pestilence, and all 
 the horror and woe and carnage of that last 
 dreadful siege ; and forgetful of his own suf- 
 fering, he exclaimed, " Weep not for me, hat 
 for yourselves and your children." 
 
 Soon the procession reached the hill-top, 
 and Christ was laid upon the ground, and 
 his arms stretched along the timber he 
 had carried, with the palms upturned, and 
 through them spikes driven, fastening them 
 to the wood. Methinks I hear the strokes 
 of the hammer as it sends the iron, with blow 
 after blow, through the quivering tendons, 
 and behold the painful workings of that ago- 
 ny-wrung brow, and the convulsive heaving 
 and swelling of that blessed bosom, which 
 seemed striving to rend above the imprisoned 
 heart. 
 
 At length he is lifted from the ground^- 
 
 his weight dragging on the spikes through 
 
 his hands ; and the cross-piece inserted into 
 
 the mortice of the upright timber, and a 
 14* 
 
162 SA.CRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 heavy iron crushed through his feet, fasten- 
 ing them to the main post, and he is left to 
 die. Why speak of his agony — of his words 
 of comfort to the dying thief— of the multi- 
 tude around him, or of the disgrace of that 
 death. Not even to look on that pallid face 
 and flowing blood could one get any concep- 
 tion of the suffering of the victim. The gloom 
 and terror that began to gather round the 
 soul, as every aid, human and divine, with- 
 drew itself, and it stood alone in the deserted, 
 darkened universe, and shuddered, was all 
 ■unseen by mortal eye. Yet even in this 
 dreadful hour his benevolent heart did not 
 forget its friends. Looking down from the 
 cross, he saw the mother that bore him ga- 
 zing in tears upon his face, and with a feeble 
 and tremulous voice, he turned to John, who 
 had so often lain in his bosom, and said, 
 " Son, behold thy mother." Then turning to 
 his mother, he said, " Behold thy son." His 
 business with earthly things was now over, 
 and he summoned his energies to meet the 
 
MOUNT CALVARY. 163 
 
 last most terrible blow, before which nature 
 itself was to give way. He had hitherto en- 
 dured all without a complaint — the mocking, 
 the spitting upon, the cross, the nails and 
 the agony — but now came a woe that broke 
 his heart. His father's — his oicn father's 
 frown began to darken upon him. Oh ! who 
 can tell the anguish of that loving, trusting, 
 abandoned heart at the sight. It was too 
 much, and there arose a cry so piercing and 
 shrill and wild that the universe shivered be- 
 fore it ; and as the accents, "Jf?/ God, my God, 
 why hast thov forsaken me?" fell on the ears 
 of astonished mortals, and filled heaven with 
 alarm ; the earth gave a groan, as if she too 
 was about to expire; the sun died in the 
 heavens ; an earthquake thundered on to 
 complete the dismay ; and the dead could no 
 longer sleep, but burst their ghastly cere- 
 ments, and came forth to look upon the 
 scene. That was the gloomiest wave that 
 ever broke over the soul of the Saviour, and 
 he fell before it. Christ was dead : and to all 
 
164 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 human appearance, tile world was an or- 
 phan. 
 
 How heaven regarded this disaster, and 
 the universe felt at the sight, I cannot tell. 
 I know not but tears fell like rain-drops from 
 angelic eyes, when they saw Christ spit 
 upon and struck. I know not but there was 
 silence on high for more than " half an hour," 
 when the scene of the crucifixion was trans- 
 piring — a silence unbroken, save by the soli- 
 tary sound of some harp-string on which un- 
 consciously fell the agitated, trembling fingers 
 of a seraph. I know not but all the radiant 
 ranks on high, and even Gabriel himself 
 turned with the deepest solicitude to the 
 Father's face, to see if he was calm and un- 
 troubled amid it all. I know not but his 
 composed brow and serene majesty were all 
 that restrained heaven from one universal 
 shriek of horror, when they heard groans on 
 Calvary, dying groans. I know not but they 
 thought God had "given his glory to an- 
 other;" but one thing I do know — that when 
 
MOUNT CALVARY. 165 
 
 they saw through the vast design, compre- 
 hended the stupendous scheme, the hills of 
 God shook to a shout that had never before 
 rung over their bright tops, and the crystal 
 sea trembled to a song that had never before 
 stirred its bright depths, and the " Glory to 
 God in the highest," was a " sevenfold 
 chorus of hallelujahs and harping sympho- 
 nies." 
 
 Yet none of the heavenly cadences reached 
 the earth, and all was sad, dark and despair- 
 ing around Mount Calvary. The excitement 
 which the slow murder had created, van- 
 ished. With none to resist, and none to be 
 slain, a change came over the feelings of the 
 multitude, and they began one by one to re- 
 turn to the city. The sudden darkness also, 
 that wrapped the heavens, and the throb 
 of the earthquake, which made those three 
 crosses reel to and fro like cedars in a tem- 
 pest, had sobered their feelings, and all but 
 the soldiery were glad to be away from a 
 scene that had ended with such supernatural 
 
166 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 exhibitions. Gradually the noise and con- 
 fusion around the cross receded down the 
 slopes — the shades of evening began to creep 
 over the landscape, throwing into still more 
 ghastly relief those three white corpses 
 stretched on high and streaked with blood — 
 and all was over. No ! not over, for the se- 
 pulchre was yet to open, and the slain Christ 
 was yet to mount the heavens in his glori- 
 ous ascension. 
 
 I will not speak of the moral grandeur of 
 the atonement — of the redemption purchased 
 by the agony and death on Calvary, for they 
 are familiar to all. Still they constitute the 
 greatness and value of the whole. It is the 
 atonement that makes Mount Calvary chief 
 among the " Sacred Mountains" — gives it 
 such altitude that no mortal eye can scan its 
 top, or bear the full effulgence of its glory. 
 Paul called on his young disciples to sum- 
 mon their strongest energies and bend their 
 highest efforts to comprehend the " length 
 and breadth, and depth and height" of this 
 
MOUNT CALVARY. 167 
 
 stupendous theme — " a length which reaches 
 from everlasting to everlasting; a breadth 
 that encompasses every intelligence and 
 every interest ; a depth which reaches the 
 lowest state of human degradation and 
 misery, and a height that throws floods of 
 glory on the throne and croxon of Jehovah.^^ 
 
In the preceding sketches I have confined 
 myself to descriptions of scenes alone, not 
 because there was no great moral truth in- 
 culcated in them, but to give them definite- 
 ness, Each is full of instruction, and indeed 
 was designed to be a great lesson for man. 
 Sometimes God's hatred of sin, sometimes 
 his care for his children, sometimes the dis- 
 cipline of his church, were the motives that 
 led him to make such wonderful displays of 
 his power, his terror, and his goodness. But 
 besides their present benefit, they have also 
 an ultimate meaning; and those immortal 
 mountains, with their silent yet eloquent 
 summits, all point to a spiritual elevation, 
 
THE MOUNT OF GOD. 169 
 
 whose top is lost in the glorious atmosphere 
 of the upper world. Thus Ararat, with the 
 heaven-lifted, heaven-guided ark resting on 
 its summit, is but a symbol of the Christian's 
 repose, after the storms of life, and wreck of 
 all earthly things, on the serene heights of 
 perpetual bliss. Mount Moriah is only the 
 shadow of that height of mystery where 
 Grod offered up his only son, and there was 
 no hand to stay the stroke. Sinai and Ho- 
 reb are but dim reflections of the terrors of 
 that law whose final execution shall set the 
 world in a blaze. Mount Pisgah points to a 
 "land of promise," from whose bosom rise 
 more glorious summits than the "goodly 
 mountain Lebanon." Tabor reveals before- 
 hand the appearance which the Lamb of God 
 will present when he stands on " Mount Zion" 
 with the redeemed about him; and Olivet 
 and Calvary are both eloquent of heaven. 
 All these, as I remarked, point more or less 
 significantly to one transcendent mountain, 
 
 whose summit has never been seen but once 
 15 
 
170 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 from earth. There is one mount whose daz- 
 zling outline is hid from human eye by im- 
 penetrable veils of glory. The Bible often 
 speaks of the " Mount of God," the " Mount 
 of Holiness," and " Mount Zion" — sometimes 
 referring to Horeb and sometimes to the 
 heights of Jerusalem, and sometimes to the 
 moral and spiritual heights of paradise. To 
 represent these last I have chosen the title 
 of " Mount of God." 
 
 In that strange era in human history vphen 
 God walked with man, clad as a man, and 
 earth was nearer to heaven than ever before, 
 amid the few friends that clustered around 
 him, was one " disciple whom Jesus loved" Of 
 a warm and devoted heart, John had allowed 
 his attachment to absorb every other feeling 
 of his nature, and he merged his life into 
 that of the Saviour. He accompanied his 
 footsteps as he walked, looked up into his 
 face with unutterable tenderness as he spoke, 
 and lay in his bosom as he sat at meat. No 
 wonder that in the days of persecution the 
 
THE MOUNT OP GOD. 171 
 
 hand of violence should fall on such a man. 
 Proscribed, banished — the solitary inhabitant 
 of Patmos — John passed his days in musing 
 on the words and fate of his departed Lord. 
 But one morning — the morning that brought 
 to remembrance his glorious ascension — he 
 was " in the spirit," and tliat lonely isle " be- 
 came like Carmel of old filled with horses 
 and chariots of fire." He "zpos in the spirit," 
 and there was nothing to disturb his high 
 and holy meditations. There was no sound 
 of passing wheels, no hum of distant voices, 
 no tread of hurried footsteps, to break the 
 solitude that surrounded him. The only 
 sound that fell on his ear, as he trode the 
 solitary shore, was the deep and solemn mur- 
 mur of the Egean sea, as it gently rolled its 
 waves to his feet. As he thus passed along, 
 wrapped in his solitary musings, he suddenly 
 heard behind him a voice like the solemn 
 peal of a piighty trumpet, saying, " I am Al- 
 pha AND Omega, the first and the last." 
 And as he turned and beheld the form which 
 
172 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 spake to him, he was filled with awe and 
 consternation, and " fell on his face as a dead 
 man." Before those burning footsteps those 
 eyes of flame, and voice like the sound of 
 many waters, that countenance shining like 
 tl e sun in his mid-day splendor, he sunk 
 powerless and affrighted, and buried his face 
 in the sand and lay speechless till he felt the 
 pressure of " his right hand" upon him, and 
 heard the cheering words, " Fear not, I am 
 the first and the last; I am he that was 
 dead, and is alive forevermore." Then fol- 
 lowed a succession of wonderful revelations, 
 till at length the heavens were opened above 
 him, and he saw the throne and him that sat 
 upon it, circled by the emerald rainbow, sur- 
 rounded by the white-vested elders, while 
 all around and far away into eternity unceas- 
 ingly rose and fell, " Holy, holy, holy, Lord 
 God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to 
 come." Thus vision after vision passed be- 
 fore his bewildered, trembling spirit, till he 
 stood and wept amid the awful pageantry of 
 
THE MOUNT OF GOD. 173 
 
 heaven. At last, to crown the scene, a mount 
 rose before him bathed in an atmosphere all 
 its own, and on its dazzling top stood the 
 still more dazzling form of the Lamb, in 
 more than earthly transfiguration, and beside 
 him a hundred and forty four thousand re- 
 splendent beings, with the Father's name 
 written in strange but heavenly characters 
 on their foreheads. The crystal sea laved 
 the base of that mountain, and from its top 
 the "river of God" was seen rolling its bright 
 waters along, and the heavenly Jerusalem, 
 with its walls of jasper and gates of pearl, 
 standing open night and day, and its temple 
 of light. As the bewildered disciple stood 
 gazing on this wonderful vision, suddenly 
 there stole on his ears strains of music. At 
 first faint and low the thrilling accents rose 
 from that mysterious mount, then swelled 
 triumphantly away, till the universe was 
 filled with the melody. The singers were 
 those hundred and forty four thousand, and 
 
 they sung a new song, and as they struck 
 15* 
 
174 SACRED MOUNTAINS. 
 
 their harps, together thus they sung : " Wor- 
 thy is the Lamb that was slain, to receive 
 power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, 
 and honor, and glory, and blessing." And 
 with one voice the innumerable host chanted 
 the heavenly doxology, " Blessing, and honor, 
 and glory, and power, be unto him that sit- 
 teth on the throne, and to the Lamb forever;" 
 and back returned the long " Amen." Again 
 and again was it taken up and echoed from 
 rank to rank along that celestial mountain, 
 till it came rolling back with all the strength 
 of archangel voices full on the throne of God. 
 The theme, the song was new — it was the 
 song of Redemption. David stood there 
 sweeping a harp far more melodious and 
 tuneful than the one he swept with such a 
 master hand on earth. Elijah poured his 
 soul of fire into it. Isaiah gave it a loftier 
 echo. The martyrs, those witnesses for the 
 truth who had passed through the flames to 
 their reward, furnished new accessions to its 
 strength ; for all the ransomed of the Lord 
 
THE MOUNT OF GOD. 176 
 
 were there. Aaron went up thither from 
 the top of Hor, and Moses from Pisgah. 
 Elijah's chariot of fire never stopped till its 
 burning wheels rested on that heavenly 
 mount, and thither Christ ascended from 
 the hill of Olives. Thus the redeemed have 
 flocked one after another to the Mount of 
 God, and there they shall continue to gather 
 xmtil the glorious assembly stands complete, 
 and " God is all and in all." 
 
 THE END. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 BS630 .H43 
 
 Sacred mountains. By J. T. Headle' 
 
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 3 1924 029 282 014 
 
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