most precious, fragrant memories.

Here is the man who has been Simon, but out of whom a new man was coming
these days, Peter, the man of rock. And here are John and James, sons of
fire and of thunder, sons of their mother. And there, little Scotch
Andrew. At least our Scotch friends seem to have adopted him as their very
own. And close by his side is his friend with the Greek name, Philip. And
here the man to whom Jesus paid the great tribute of naming him the
guileless man.

And the others, not so well known to us, but very well known to Jesus, and
to be not a whit less faithful than their brothers these coming days. But
somehow as you look you are at once irresistibly drawn past these to
_Him_--the Man in the midst. The Man with the great face, torn with the
thorns, and cut with the thongs, but shining with a sweet, wondrous,
beauty light.

It is the last time they are together. He is going away; coming back soon,
they understand. They do not know just how soon. But meanwhile in His
absence they are to be as He Himself would be if He remained among men.
They are to stand for Him. And so with eyes fixed on His face they look,
and listen, and wonder a bit, just what the last word will be.

What would you expect it to be? It was the good-by word between men who
were lovers, dearest friends. The tenderest thing would be said and the
most important. The one going away would speak of that which lay closest
down in His own heart. And whatever He might say would sink deepest into
their hearts, and control their action in the after days.

He had been talking to them very insistently, about an hour before, down