all his oratorio vibrate around that one chord--"He was wounded for
our transgressions, bruised for our iniquity." But not until all the
redeemed get home, and from the countenances of all the piled-up
galleries of the ransomed shall be revealed the wonders of redemption,
shall either man or seraph or archangel know the height, and depth,
and length, and breadth of the love of God.

At our national capital, a monument in honor of him who did more than
any one to achieve our American Independence, was for scores of years
in building, and most of us were discouraged and said it never would
be completed. And how glad we all were when in the presence of the
highest officials of the nation, the work was done! But will the
monument to Him who died for the eternal liberation of the human race
ever be completed? For ages the work has been going up; evangelists
and apostles and martyrs have been adding to the heavenly pile, and
every one of the millions of the redeemed going up from earth, has
made to it contribution of gladness, and weight of glory is swung to
the top of other weight of glory, higher and higher as the centuries
go by, higher and higher as the whole millenniums roll, sapphire on
the top of jasper, sardonyx on the top of chalcedony, and chrysoprasus
above topaz, until, far beneath shall be the walls and towers and
domes of the great capitol, a monument forever and forever rising, and
yet never done. "Unto Him who hath loved us and washed us from our
sins in His own blood, and made us kings and priests forever."

Allelujah, amen.