umanly, the secret of Jesus' stupendous character
and career.

And it is the same for the humblest of us. The road is no different. We
_may_ say, by His great grace, in the insistence of our sovereign wills,
"All that is mine is Thine: I give it Thee. I give it back to Thee: I
use all the strength of my will in yielding all to Thee, and in doing
it habitually."

Then we _can_ say, with greatest reverence and humility and yet bold
confidence, "All that is Thine _is mine._" Yet being mine it is Thine.
Still being Thine it is mine. So comes the perfection of the rhythmic
action of love. Our love gives our all to _Him_. And then _takes_ the
greater all of His--no, not _from_ Him, _for_ Him, held in trust, used
_for_ Him, while we keep knees and face close to the ground, lest we
stumble and slip and worse.

So the prayer closes. And if we might go back over it, alone in secret,
prayerfully, quietly thinking thoughtfully into it, until this great
simple prayer gets its hold upon our hearts. And then gradually it would
come to us that _so_ He is now praying for us, _you and me_.

What must it have meant to these men to stand there quietly, awed as
they listen to Him praying that prayer. How it reveals the deep
consciousness of the intimacy of relation between Father and Son. How it
must have touched and stirred them to the very depths to hear Jesus
telling the Father so simply about _their_ faith in Himself, and _their_
obedience, their break with their national allegiance to follow Himself.
And that word _joy_--did they wonder about it? And wonder more later
that night, and the days after? But the key-note of the music _caught_,
and soon they were singing the same tune, and in the same pitch.

What wooing! This was the closest wooing. The fine wooing of this
matchless Lover came to its superlative degree that night. Positive
degree, that touch upon their feet; comparative, that talk about the
board and along the road; superlative, this taking them in for a brief
moment into the secrecy of His inner communion with the Father.

Simplified Spelling.

And this closer wooing is not over. It hasn't quit yet. That vine is
still hanging out in fine view, all softly ablaze with the clear
beautifying light, not of a fine Passover moon; no, the light of His
_face_, His _life_, His _words_. That vine becomes for all time to every
heart the pictured meaning of _abide_. And that word _abide_ gives the
whole of the true life.