TRS.

MR

ELIZABETH PRESTON sat down in the congregation that beautiful Easter morning for the first time in many years. Since her girlhood she had occupied an important place in the choir of her church, and usually she was too absorbed in the proper rendering of the musical part of the service to note, with more than a casual glance, the worshippers in the pews.

This year she had been impressed with the Holy Week meditations more than ever before, and in the practice of the jubilant Easter anthems she had experienced more than usual delight.

What disappointment it was to awake in the golden light of an almost faultless Easter day to the realization that she would have to make "melody in her heart" that day, while her lips would be mute. A sudden cold had stolen her voice away, leaving only enough for well nigh inaudible whispers.

Since she could be of no service in her accustomed place, why not try the novel experience of sitting down in the congregation?

This was the suggestion that well-nigh reconciled her to the frustration of her plans. She would drink in the Easter praises without any personal anxiety, lest a false note should sweep in to mar the harmony. She would see and hear the choir, on this special day, as others heard and saw on all occasions.

As the glad hallelujahs of the opening anthem rose and fell with majestic sweetness, the flowers about the altar seemed to nod, and the palms to wave, with the thrill of the jubilant melody, and Mrs. Preston's heart swelled with the praises her lips could not utter, and breathed its own response to the song of adoration.

She drank in, with increasing delight, the hymn, "Look, Ye Saints, the Sight is Glorious!" and experienced a peculiar feel

ing of awe when the strength of the blended voices about her set the arches overhead ringing with that thrilling:

"Crown Him! Crown Him!

Crown the Saviour, King of Kings!" She was conscious of a distinct shock, however, when the clearly announced text brought her suddenly back from delight in musical praises to the unwelcome thought of sacrifice and service.

Whoever heard such a text for Easter Day? she mentally questioned as she repeated it over to herself.

"If we suffer we shall also reign with Him." Surely the good pastor had made a mistake this time in his selection! That subject would be suitable for Good Friday, she thought, but who wanted to dwell on the thought of suffering, when everything seemed throbbing with notes of victory and praise. As the sermon progressed she had to admit to herself, however, that although unusual, it was in a way as triumphant as the anthems. In its unfoldment it told of victory for all; but of victory by way of the cross. It touched her heart to its depths, with the word-painting of Jesus still bearing the cross alone, while His followers were seeking to reap the benefits of His life and death "on flowery beds of ease."

When the last hymn was announced, she was almost glad that she could not sing, for with the stirring impressions of the sermon in her heart, she felt that she did not dare utter words that her life disproved. Sitting in silent conviction herself, she could not help but note that all about her others were singing in apparent unconcern, "Jesus, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow Thee." Just in front of her sat Mr. and Mrs. Rich, putting seeming earnestness into the words, and she knew that, in their gilded existence, they had never borne a cross for Christ heavier than just occasional attend

THE EASTER MESSAGE

ance on the Sunday service, when weather conditions were inviting.

Sadie Coleman's face was tranquil, as the beautiful words rolled from her lips, but the richness of her garments proved that she had not "left" much, in the way of personal adornment, to walk the way of the

cross.

Hannah Fischer lifted her head in evident enjoyment of the sweet melody until the willow plumes on her gorgeous hat swept the shoulder of her velvet gown just as she reached the line, "Perish every fond ambition."

Estelle Harper played idly with a magnificent cross of gold, studded with diamonds, that hung around her neck as she sang, "Yet how rich is my condition."

Mrs. Preston knew full well that Estelle simply ignored every call to service, and spent her abundant means lavishly on her "every fond ambition."

Mrs. Harper was singing with seeming ease of conscience, "Let the world despise and leave me," yet in her home life only the world held sway. She had ample time to heed all the calls of her clubs and social engagements, but absolutely "no time" for church society duties.

Shocked at the sudden consciousness of the shameful inconsistency of it all, Mrs. Preston bowed her head and turned the searchlight of her newly awakened thought inward. The floral cross she had twined and lifted into place the day before was the heaviest one she had ever, willingly, borne in all her life. She had been rather faithful as a member of the choir, but that was no cross; for she dearly loved to sing. She realized now, with shame, that she had missed every missionary society meeting, but two or three through the whole year, because they happened to come in conflict with some engagements, which she gladly used as an excuse for absence. She had refused to lead a single meeting; she had declined to try to win one of her neighbors to membership in the missionary society because she disliked to be personally annoying; she had flatly said "No" when asked to join a mission study class; she had objected to several voluntary offerings some other women of the church suggested, because she did not feel inclined to increase the pitiful little annual sum she regarded as dues; she had flippantly refused to take any part in the work of the Sunday school because she said to do so would rob her of her "beauty sleep."

Where was the cross she had borne since she had voluntarily pledged her life to the One who made this the emblem and sign of His service? Like Estelle Horton, hers was a cross of gold or else she had woven one of flowers on the cross beams of her

own selfish gratifications, and it had seemed an ornament rather than a badge of suffering and service. But in upon her reflections came rolling that volume of song,

"Soon shall close thy earthly mission,

Soon shall pass thy pilgrim days." Where would her triumph be? Conquest must precede victory, and conquest means battles and suffering.

Mrs. Preston faced the disquieting musings in earnest concern, as, under the spell of the sweet old hymn, her heart began to throb with new impulses. Then the blessed Easter light began to break through the shadows, and she saw that her mission began at the Cross of Calvary. Hitherto she had followed just that far in thankful appropriation of the Saviour's sufferings, and then year after year she had turned back in calm security in His finished work. She had all of her life rested in blissful enjoyment of that finished redemption, with scarcely a thought of the unfinished task given two thousand years ago to His disciples. Willing indeed had she been to "reign with Him," but she had never thought of the necessity for the prelude to that eternal praise "suffering with Him." Now her risen Lord seemed to say to her, as He did to Mary on the resurrection morn, "Go-tell." She heard His call to a life of service. She understood as she had never before that cross-bearing did not mean the mere acceptance of inevitable trials, but the voluntary, willing taking up of the service difficult to do and the selfdenial hard to be borne.

As she stood with bowed head, in silent prayer, at the close of the service, she prayed, "Help me, O my suffering, triumphant Lord, to take up my cross and to lift Thy cross before those who have never heard of Thy atoning death and Thy glorious, life-giving resurrection. Amen."

GOOD FRIDAY

"Brother, for thee He died, This King that reigneth now, Risen and glorified,

With hallowed brow. For thee He bore the cross, For thee His eyes grow dim, Brother, He died for thee, Live thou for Him!"

EASTER DAY

A song of sunshine through the rain
Of spring across the snow,

A balm to heal the hurts of pain,
A peace surpassing woe.
Lift up your heads, ye sorrowing ones,
And be ye glad of heart,
For Calvary and Easter Day,
Earth's saddest day and gladdest day,
Were just one day apart.