not put away, the _old man_ is not yet dead, and the _new man_ not yet
_put on_? Is that New Sacrifice the light of my daily life? Have I done
anything except hinder the growth of Christ's Church, anything except
drag down her standards, so far as I am able, to my own low level? Is
there a single soul now in the world who owes, under God, her conversion
to my efforts?

Why, as I watch my life and review it in His Presence it would seem as
if I had done nothing but disappoint Him all my days! He cried, like the
deacon of His own Sacrifice, Go! it is done! _Ite; missa est!_ The
Sacrifice is finished here; go out in its strength to live the life
which it makes possible!

Let me at least begin to-day, have done with my old compromises and
shifts and evasions. _Ite; missa est!_




THE SEVENTH WORD

_Father, into Thy hands I commend My spirit._


He has cried with a loud voice, and the rocks have rent to its echo, and
the earth is shaken, and the Veil of the Old Testament is torn from top
to bottom as the Old Covenant passes into the New and the enclosed
sanctity of the Most Holy Place breaks out into the world. And now, as
the level sun shines out again beneath the pall of clouds, He whispers,
as at Mary's knee in Nazareth, the old childish prayer and yields up