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 haps we  need  more  than  ordinarily  to  be  reminded that conversion  without  perseverance  is  of  little worth. He is  passing  through  Samaria,  bound  for Jerusalem, accompanied  by  His  disciples  and  the ever-present Pharisees. Hard by  a  town,  He  stands a little  apart,  looking  down  with  mingled  joy  and sadness on  a  man  who,  prone  before  Him,  sobs  out his thankfulness  and  embraces  His  feet  with  love  and adoration. He is  one  of  the  ten  poor  lepers  who  an hour  ago  cried  to  the  passing  Saviour:  "Jesus, Master,  have  pity  on  us." Afflicted with  that  loathsome disease,  driven  by  law  beyond  town  limits, forbidden to  see,  except  at  a  distance,  even  their nearest and  dearest,  crouching  in  the  sand-pits  by night,  and  by  day  wandering  dolefully  among  the tombs — ah! what pent-up  misery  of  many  weary years found  vent  in  that  cry:  "Jesus,  Master,  have pity  on  us." And Jesus  turning  said  to  them:  "  Go, show  yourselves  to  the  priest  and  offer  sacrifice  according to  the  law." And as  they  went,  lo! ere they reached the  city  gates  their  hideous  deformity  disappeared and  their  flesh  became  as  the  flesh  of  a little  child. But were  not  ten  made  clean — nine Jews and  one  Samaritan? Where then  are  the  nine? Alas! there is  no  one  found  to  return  and  give  glory to God  but  one,  the  stranger,  the  Samaritan.

Brethren, no  cup  of  human  joy  is  without  its  drain of sorrow. A shadow  is  on  the  Saviour's  countenance and  the  Samaritan  is  presently  shamefaced and apologetic. Earth's heroes  climb  the  mount  of glory,  only  to  find  other  peaks  towering  above