But if you get close enough to John to see into his eye you quit talking
like that. And if you get near enough to hear you find your sympathy is
not needed. For John's eye is ablaze with a tender light, and the sound
of an inner heart music reaches your ear as you get near him. And if you
follow, as you instinctively do, the line of the light in his eye you
quickly look down the road.

Oh! There's John's crowd. _They're listening to Jesus._John's crowd has
left him for his Master. And the forgotten preacher is the finest
evidence of the faithfulness of the preacher. The crowd's getting the
water, sweet cool refreshing water of life, direct from the fountain.
They've clean forgotten the faithful common tin-cup. And John's so glad.
John came that he might bear witness of _the light_. And he did. And the
crowd heard. And they flocked to the light.

Here's a man preaching. And the people are listening. The benediction is
pronounced. And they go out. And as they move slowly out they're
talking, always talking. We don't seem yet to have demitted our
privilege of talking after service. Here are two. Listen to them. "Isn't
he a great preacher? so scholarly, so eloquent, so polished; and all
those classical allusions. I didn't understand half he said; he
certainly is a great preacher. We're very fortunate in such a man."

And the preacher, whoever he be, may know this for a bit of the
certainty that occasionally _will_ sift in. He may be a scholar. I
wouldn't question it. And a polished orator. I wouldn't question that.
But in the main thing, the one thing he's for, as a _Jesus-witness_, he
is a splendid scholarly polished failure. Men are talking about _him_.