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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

That was it. Christ had not deserted him; he had
lost the right ever to approach Christ again. That accounted for
everything--the unutterable desolation, the dark despair, the
overwhelming necessity of death without one ray of hope.
All that lovely and comforting faith in the endless loving mercy of
God the Son, the Redeemer of mankind, the Friend and sometime Comrade
of man, was to prove useless to him; the gentle creed of the Baptists
could not be applied to so vile a case as his; he was at handygrips
with the dread Jehovah, the mighty Judge, the offended King of
creation.
Three Persons and one God--yes, but such different Persons; and
thinking of the triple mystery, he imagined that two of its component
parts had probably seen through him from the very beginning of his
religious fervor. Only the other part, the part that he wished was the
whole, had believed in him and gone on believing in him until it was
forbidden to do so any more.
The awe and reverence that he felt while he thought in this manner
made him bow his head and keep his eyes humbly downcast, as one not
daring to look upward to the heavenly throne; yet, profound and
sincere as was his reverential awe, he unhesitatingly translated all
the sublime mystery of the skies into the simple terms that alone
possess plain meaning to man's limited intelligence.


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