ophet melting into voluptuous softness? Is he getting the
world's manners and the world's courtly insincerity? Is he becoming
artificial through his change of life? My Christian brethren, we find
nothing of the kind. There he stands in Herod's voluptuous court the
prophet of the desert still, unseduced by blandishment from his high
loyalty, and fronting his patron and his prince with the stern
unpalatable truth of God.

It is refreshing to look on such a scene as this--the highest, the
very highest moment, I think, in all John's history; higher than his
ascetic life. For after all, ascetic life such as he had led before,
when he fed on locusts and wild honey, is hard only in the first
resolve. When you have once made up your mind to that, it becomes a
habit to live alone. To lecture the poor about religion is not hard.
To speak of unworldliness to men with whom we do not associate, and
who do not see _our_ daily inconsistencies, _that_ is not hard. To
speak contemptuously of the world when we have no power of commanding
its admiration, _that_ is not difficult. But when God has given a man
accomplishments, or powers, which would enable him to shine in
society, and he can still be firm, and steady, and uncompromisingly
true; when he can be as undaunted before the rich as before the poor;
when rank and fashion cannot subdue him into silence: when he hates
moral evil as sternly in a great man as he would in a peasant, there
is truth in that man. This was the test to which the Baptist was
submitted.

And now contemplate him for a moment; forget that he is an historical
personage, and remember that he was a man like us. Then comes the
trial. All the habits and rules of polite life would be whispering
such advice as this: "Only keep your remarks within the limits of
politeness. If you cannot approve, be silent; you can do no good by
finding fault with the great." We know how the whole spirit of a man
like John would have revolted at that. Imprisonment? Yes. Death? Well,
a man can die but once,--anything but not cowardice,--not
meanness,--not pretending what I do not feel, and disguising what I do
feel. Brethren, death is not the worst thing in this life; it is not
difficult to die--five minutes and the sharpest agony is past. The
worst thing in this life is cowardly untruthfulness. Let men be rough
if they will, let them be unpolished, but let Christian men in all
they say be sincere. No