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PEREGRINE PAPERS
By Rev. W. II. T. Squires, D. D.
AWAITING THE KING.
XIX.
All roads from 1h.a north and east and many
from the west pour their human tide upon
one great highway t lint leads over the lofty
hills of Benjamin toward Jerusalem, the city
of the King. It is worth waiting a lifetime
to set foot upon that historic highway. The
expense, fatigue and trials of travel through
many an alien city and over many boundless
seas are well worth while if one may, at last,
turn his face toward Jerusalem, the supreme
city of the world. Through the intense, blind
ing glare of the brilliant mid-summer sun the
towers and minarets swam into view.
They call Rome the Eternal City. But that
name is usurped. Jerusalem was a proud capi
tal 1,200 years, and more beside, before the
foundations of Alba Longa were laid on the
hills of Tib?r. From Melchizedek to this good
day, from the days of Noah to the anticipated
second advent of our Lord, and perhaps for
a thousand years beyond His second coming
Jerusalem is the Eternal City, and the only
blood of David, the blood of Abraham, and
possibly the blood, certainly the office, of Mel
cliizedek. The call of the blood of 3,01)0 years,
of 120 generations, surged within Him when
He cried:
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, that killeth the
prophets, and stoneth them that are sent unto
her! llow often would 1 have gathered thy
children together even as a hen gathereth her
chickens under her wings, and ye would not!
Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.
For I say nnto you, ye shall not sec Me hence
forth, till ye shall say, Blessed is lie that com
eth in the name of the Lord."
Jerusalem has not said that word, but she
will come to it as surely as there is truth in
prophecy, as surely as there is a God in heaven.
This is the city of the Crucifixion, of the
Resurrection, of the Ascension, of Pentecost
and the Baptism of the Holy Spirit. This is
the cradle of Christendom, the source of all
that is good. Now so barren, the streams of
A typical scene at Damascus Gate, Jerusalem.
eternal city. In ruin and wretchedness, in
desolation, disgrace and despair she is still the
magnet of the world. Jerusalem is unique in
her appeal to the heart of the world. Nor
does she appeal in vain. Today as in the days
of David, of Christ, of the Crusaders, Jerusa
lem is an unrivalled queen.
In the dim twilight of history she was Sal."m,
the City of Peace, and her king was Melchi
zedek, the Prince of Peace. Melchizedek was
old when Abraham was young; in fact, thore
are some scholars who identify Melchizedek
with Shcm, the priestly son of Noah.
While Israel sojourned in Egypt the Jehu
sites made their capital on these hills; and
remained until the bulwarks of Mount Zion
were captured by Great Joab's dauntless
sword. David gathered the united tribes of
Israel here, and for twenty generations a man
was not wanting in David's royal line; al
though candor compels one to add that some
of Judah's kings had less of David \ heroic
spirit than of his blood.
It is not David, but David's Greater Son
whose feet have trod this sacred soil and made
it holy above all lands. Jesus loved Jerusa
lem. He eouhl not do otherwise. His was the
religion and civilization have flowed hence to
all the earth.
How can a skeptic account for the influence
of Jerusalem? Without Jesus Christ this is
a filthy, crowded, conglomerate, ruined, mel
odorous, Oriental town. With Him it is the
heart and the hope of the world, the City of
the Coming King, once disowned and rejected.
Within the steep and narrow streets of Jeru
salem a constant confusion of tongues, and a
motley variety of costumes greets the strang
er. Every language on earth may be heard
here today, unless it be Choctaw, and every
possible variety of dress may be seen, as in
the days of Pentecost.
"Who are these gentlemen in long black
coats, shovel hats and delightful little curls,
which fall like a fetlock in front of each ear?"
Russian Jews.
"And who are these thickly bewhiskered
gentlemen with monstrous hoods, like Hal
lowe'en witches, ropes about their waists and
immense, bare feet peeping flirtatiously from
the hem of long, dirty gowns?"
Armenian monks.
"Who are these extremely holy and patri
archal-looking brothers, who evidently need a
shave and a prolonged shower bath. They
wear stovepipe hats, like Abraham Lincoln,
only these have a flange at the top like a ear
wheel ? ' '
Greek priests.
"Who comes here? A nut-brown brother
with flying eagles, coiled serpents and rum
pant wild beasts of the jungle done all over
him, face, neck, arms and legs, in blue tattoo,
making an ugly man hideous."
Bedouins.
"Don't all these gentlemen know they a~e
out of style? Dresses should fall little if any
below the knee. The long skirts on these
streets remind me of fine Ameriean ladies in
Mr. Cleveland's second administration. Pray,
somebody tell these Bedouins, Arabs, negroes,
"These gentlemen are modest., you know,"
my friend replied.
"Well, this one is not modest. A strong
man, tanned a deep brown, wild-eyed, haggard,
b?' whiskered, almost naked, save for a pieee of
guano sack tied about him."
"lie is a holy, wild man. Don't notice him;
he is dangerous, probably crazy. If he notices
you give him a piastre and get away as speed
ily as possible."
Enough said. There ?s no end to the pro
cession of curious folk who throng the nar
row, filthy, cobblestoned streets and bazaars
of Jerusalem.
It was early Sunday morning a military band
sounded in the streets and attracted a great
crowd. Behind the band swung a column of
fresh-faced British lads, who looked for the
most part too young for regular soldiers. Tbey
were marching to church. It is an item of
Great Britain's tactful, colonial policy. The
horns flare, tbe drums beat, the\flag flutters in
the breeze, officers and men make a brave show
in the sunlight of early morning. They carry
ugly looking guns, tipped with steel bayon
ets that glisten savagely in the peaceful sun
shine. They are marching, this unit of a dis
ciplined army ? just to church ! But when
they have passed every brown Arab, every
naked Dervish, every rebellious Moslem and
Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Greeks, Jews,
Copts and Palestinians that they ought, by all
means, to shorten their skirts and get into
style."
grumbling Palestinian know that England has
come to stay. The touch is a touch of velvet,
but under it is a grip of iron, respected and
feared in six continents. The lads were mostly
from Yorkshire and Kent. Marching they
seemed to say, "We don't want trouble with
anybody, but if you want to know who is boss
here, start something."
I followed them into the English church ?
Christ Church ? and enjoyed the quiet and
restful service. The familiar prayers were as
balm to a weary soul. One never appreciates
the b?auty of the mother tongue until he is
thrown into a babel of outlandish tongues.
The rector was a gentle, old man. I thought
of the Vicar of Wakefield. The sermon was
brief, simple and helpful in its practical sym
pathy. The congregation was made up almost
wholly of soldiers and their families.
At the end of the service we stood to sing
"God Save the King." The soldier boys caught
up the words with hearty good-will and their
deep bass voices floated far out upon Mount
Zion. Just over the way was the Tower of
David, wjjieh the antiquarians claim was one
of the melancholy monuments Titus left stand
ing at the destruction of Jerusalem. Within a
pistol shot was the reputed site of David's