going love, and the point of man's sore need, given a sharper-pointed
end by its very soreness.

It is a sort of blind pull, this pull of man on the heart of God; a
confused, unconscious, half-conscious, dust-blinded, slippery-road sort
of pulling, but one whose tight grip never slacks. Man needs God, but
does not know it. He knows he needs _some_thing. He feels that keenly.
But he does not know that it's God whom he needs, with a very few rare
exceptions. It doesn't seem to have entered his head that he'll never
get out of his tight corner till God gets him out.

Down the street of life he goes, eyes blinded by the thick dust, ears
deafened by the cries of the crowd, by the noise of the street without,
and the noise of passions and fevered ambitions within, heart a-wearied
by the confusion of it all, groping, stumbling, jostled and jostling,
hitting this way and that, with the fever high in his blood, and his
feet aching and bleeding; sometimes the polish of culture on the
surface; _some_times rags and dirt; but underneath the same thing.

Yet under all there's a vague but very real feeling of that unceasing
pull upward upon His heart-strings. But though blind and vague and
confused that tugging is never the less tense, but ever more, and then
yet more.

Jesus was God answering the tug of man's need on His heart-strings. And
so naturally there was an answering feel in man's heart. Man felt the
answer a-coming. There was a great stir in the spirit-currents of earth
when Jesus came. A thrill of expectancy ran through the world, Roman,
Greek, Barbarian, far and wide, as Jesus drew near. The book-makers of
that time all speak of it. It was the vibration of those same