prise. He saw far away into the blue vault, which had opened into
depth after depth of golden glory. The vail was rent to admit of the
coming forth of the Divine Spirit, who seemed to descend in visible
shape--as a dove might, with gentle, fluttering motion--and to alight
on the head of the Holy One, who stood there fresh from his baptism.
The stress of the narrator, as he told the story afterwards, was that
the Spirit not only came, but _abode_. Here was the miracle of
miracles, that He should be willing to _abide_ in any human temple, who
for so many ages had wandered restlessly over the deluge of human sin,
seeking a resting-place, but finding none. Here, at least, was an ark
into which this second Noah might pull in the fluttering dove, unable
to feed, like the raven, on corruption and death.

The voice of God from heaven proclaimed that Jesus of Nazareth was his
beloved Son, in whom He was well pleased; and the Baptist could have no
further doubt that the Desire of all Nations, the Lord whom his people
sought, the Messenger of the Covenant, had suddenly come to his temple
to act as a refiner's fire and as fullers' soap. "John bare witness,
saying, I have beheld the Spirit descending as a dove out of heaven;
and it abode upon Him." "John beareth witness of Him and crieth" (John
i. 15, 32).

How much that designation meant to Christ! It was his Pentecost, his
consecration and dedication to his life-work; from thenceforth, in a
new and special sense, the Spirit of the Lord was upon Him, and He was
anointed to preach. But it was still more to the Baptist. He knew
that his mission was nearly fulfilled, that his office was ended. He
had opened the gate to the true Shepherd, and must now soon consign to
Him all charge of the flock. Jesus must increase, while he decreased.
He that was from heaven was above all; as for himself, he was of the
earth, and spake of the earth. The Sun had risen, and the day-star
began to wane.

VIII.

Not that Light, but a Witness.

(John I. 8.)

"Nothing resting in its own completeness
Can have worth or beauty; but alone
Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness,
Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.

"Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,
Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;
But is hidden in her tender leaning
To the summer's richer wealth of flowers."
A. A. PROCTOR.

Resentment of the Sanhedrim--The Baptis