“I do.  It has been burned into me that He would.  I believe He would say to the members of Calvary Church, ’If any man love houses and money and society and power and position more than Me, he cannot be My disciple.  If any man renounceth not all that he hath he cannot be My disciple.’  And then he would test the entire church by its willingness to renounce all these physical things.  And if He found the members willing, if He found that they loved Him more than the money or the power, He might not demand a literal giving up.  But he would say to them, ’Take My money and My power, for it is all Mine, and use them for the building up of my kingdom.’  He would not then perhaps command them to leave literally their beautiful surroundings.  But, then, in some cases, I believe He would.  Oh, yes!—­sacrifice! sacrifice!  What does the Church in America in this age of the world know about it?  How much do church-members give of themselves nowadays to the Master?  That is what we need—­self, the souls of men and women, the living sacrifices for these lost children down yonder!  Oh, God!—­to think of what Christ gave up!  And then to think of how little His Church is doing to obey His last command to go and disciple the nations!”

Philip strode through the night almost forgetful of his companion.  By this time they had reached Mr. Winter’s house.  Very little was said by the mill-owner.  A few brief words of good-night, and Philip started for home.  He went back through the avenue on which the churches stood.  When he reached Calvary Church he went up on the steps, and obeying an instant impulse he kneeled down on the upper step and prayed.  Great sobs shook him.  They were sobs without tears—­sobs that were articulate here and there with groans of anguish and desire.  He prayed for his loved church, for the wretched beings in the hell of torment, without God and without hope in the world, for the spirit of Christ to come again into the heart of the church and teach it the meaning and extent of sacrifice.

When he finally arose and came down the steps it was very late.  The night was cold, but he did not feel it.  He went home.  He was utterly exhausted.  He felt as if the burden of the place was wearing him out and crushing him into the earth.  He wondered if he was beginning to know ever so little what a tremendous invitation that was:  “Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”  All!  The weary, sinful souls in Milton were more than he could carry.  He shrank back before the amazing spectacle of the mighty Burden-Bearer of the sin of all the world, and fell down at his feet and breathed out the words, “My Lord and my God!” before he sank into a heavy sleep.

When the eventful Sunday came he faced the usual immense concourse.  He did not come out of the little room until the last moment.  When he finally appeared his face bore marks of tears.  At last they had flowed as a relief to his burden, and he gave the people his message with a courage and a peace and a love born of direct communion with the Spirit of Truth.