which he had given his name, but his disciples passed into the service of Christ, and were absorbed in the Christian church.  Words from John had made impressions, and men forgot in after years where the impressions first came from, but the day of judgment will not forget.  John laid the foundations of a temple, and others built upon it He laid it in struggle, in martyrdom.  It was covered up like the rough masonry below ground, but when we look round on the vast Christian Church, we are looking at the superstructure of John’s toil.

There is a lesson for us in all that, if we will learn it.  Work, true work, done honestly and manfully for Christ, never can be a failure.  Your own work, my brethren, which God has given you to do, whatever that is, let it be done truly.  Leave eternity to show that it has not been in vain in the Lord.  Let it but be work, it will tell.  True Christian life is like the march of a conquering army into a fortress which has been breached; men fall by hundreds in the ditch.  Was their fall a failure?  Nay, for their bodies bridge over the hollow, and over them the rest pass on to victory.  The quiet religious worship that we have this day—­how comes it to be ours?  It was purchased for us by the constancy of such men as John, who freely gave their lives.  We are treading upon a bridge of martyrs.  The suffering was theirs—­the victory is ours.  John’s career was no failure.

Yet we have one more circumstance which seems to tell of failure.  In John’s prison, solitude, misgiving, black doubt, seem for a time to have taken possession of the prophet’s soul.  All that we know of those feelings is this:—­John while in confinement sent two of his disciples to Christ, to say to Him, “Art thou He that should come, or do we look for another?” Here is the language of painful uncertainty.  We shall not marvel at this, if we look steadily at the circumstances.  Let us conceive John’s feelings.  The enthusiastic child of Nature, who had roved in the desert, free as the air he breathed, is now suddenly arrested, and his strong restless heart limited to the four walls of a narrow dungeon.  And there he lay startled.  An eagle cleaving the air with motionless wing, and in the midst of his career brought from the black cloud by an arrow to the ground, and looking round with his wild, large eye, stunned, and startled there; just such was the free prophet of the wilderness, when Herod’s guards had curbed his noble flight, and left him alone in his dungeon.

Now there is apparent failure here, brethren; it is not the thing which we should have expected.  We should have expected that a man who had lived so close to God all his life, would have no misgivings in his last hours.  But, my brethren, it is not so.  It is the strange truth that some of the highest of God’s servants are tried with darkness on the dying bed.  Theory would say, when a religious