Page:Cyclopedia of illustrations for public speakers, containing facts, incidents, stories, experiences, anecdotes, selections, etc., for illustrative purposes, with cross-references; (IA cyclopediaofillu00scotrich).pdf/109

 very realistic; so is the absorption of the man of science, so intent on the contents of his test-tube that he had not a glance for the Christ at his side. One of the most striking figures is that of the thoughtless beauty hurrying from one scene of pleasure to another; and spurning the sweet-faced little ragged child who is offering a bunch of violets. In rejecting the plea of the child we know that the proud woman is rejecting the Christ who has identified himself forever with the least of these little ones. The only person in the whole picture who has found time to pause is the mother seated on the steps of the pedestal with her baby in her arms, and we can not but feel that when she has ministered to the wants of her child she will spare a moment for the lover of little children who is so close to her. In the background stands an angel with bowed head, holding the cup which the world He loved to the death is still compelling the Christ to drink, while a cloud of angel faces look down upon the scene with wonder. As the visitor turns away he is haunted with the music of Stainer's "Crucifixion," "Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by?" (Text.)

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CHRIST, THE SEARCHING

A pastor tells of a talk he once had with an artist over the unsatisfactoriness of the pictured faces of Christ. In reply, the artist took up a crayon and rapidly sketched the picture of a woman with a broom in one hand and a lighted candle in the other, and a look of intense anxiety on her face.

"It is a fine representation of the woman seeking for the lost bit of silver," said the pastor.

"You do not understand my picture," was the quick response. "That is my conception of the Christ."

Ah, what a conception! A searching Christ! Seeking in dark, dusty corners for His own!—

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Christ Transforming—See.

CHRIST UNAVOIDABLE

A learned native of Saxony all his life long has attacked Jesus and His gospel. But in his old days he doubted if he had been right, and yet fought against his doubts and against Christ. Often he would stop before a picture of Jesus, and say, "After all, thou wast only a man!" Then, "What dost thou say? that thou camest from above? How terribly thou eyest me! oh, thou art dreadful! But thou art only a man, after all." He would go away, then with faltering step return and cry out, "What! art thou in reality the Son of God?" That scene was often renewed until the unhappy man, struck by paralysis, died. (Text.)

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CHRIST, UNION WITH

Christ is necessary to the Christian, but is not the obverse true also. If both are bound up in the same life, can one be injured without suffering to the other? This is the lesson which a recent writer finds taught by the ivy:

Some of the creeping plants, it is said, such as the ivy, entwine themselves so intimately with the masonry to which they cling that it would be unsafe to try to remove them—the building would be injured by their being torn away. And so our Lord Christ, with reverence, be it said, can not endure the loss of one of His members: He would be injured, mutilated, by only one of them being taken away, so close is the union between Him and them. (Text.)

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CHRIST'S EFFECT ON BARABBAS

A picture that may not be all imaginary is given by Margaret Ashmun in this poem from The New England Magazine:

And they released Barabbas, and he went Forth from his dungeon, joying in the grace Of life regained; yet, as he passed, a face Shone out from the dim corridor, and bent Its gaze upon him; questioning, intent. He knew that brow where anguish had its place, Those lips prophetic, sealed now for a space, Those eyes, deep-welled with awful, still content. The robber paused to marvel at the Man Whose death should serve for his; nor spoke aloud The foul jest in his throat. He stayed to scan Once more that visage calm; then, trembling, bowed With fear and harsh soul-harrowing grief, he ran And hid himself, sick-hearted, in the crowd.

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