Mohammed was now at the mature age of forty, in the fulness of his powers, in the prime of his life; and he began to preach everywhere that there is but one God.  Few, however, believed in him.  Why not acknowledge such a fundamental truth, appealing to the intellect as well as the moral sense?  But to confess there is a supreme God, who rewards and punishes, and to whom all are responsible both for words and actions, is to imply a confession of sinfulness and the justice of retribution.  Those degraded Arabians would not receive willingly such a truth as this, even as the Israelites ever sought to banish it from their hearts and minds, in spite of their deliverance from slavery.  The uncles and friends of Mohammed treated his mission with scorn and derision.  Nor do I read that the common people heard him gladly, as they listened to the teachings of Christ.  Zealously he labored for three years with all classes; and yet in three years of exalted labor, with all his eloquence and fervor and sincerity, he converted only about thirteen persons, one of whom was his slave.  Think of such a man declaring such a truth, and only gaining thirteen followers in three years!  How sickened must have been his enthusiastic soul!  His worldly relatives urged him to silence.  Why attack idols; why quarrel with his own interests; why destroy his popularity?  Then exclaimed that great hero:  “If the sun stood on my right hand, and the moon on my left, ordering me to hold my peace, I would still declare there is but one God,”—­a speech rivalled only by Luther at the Diet of Worms.  Why urge a great man to be silent on the very thing which makes him great?  He cannot be silent.  His truth—­from which he cannot be separated—­is greater than life or death, or principalities or powers.

Buffeted and ridiculed, still Mohammed persevered.  He used at first only moral means.  He appealed only to the minds and hearts of the people, encouraged by his few believers and sustained by the fancied voice of that angel who appeared to him in his retreat.  But his earnest voice was drowned by discordant noises.  He was regarded as a lunatic, a demented man, because he professed to believe in a personal God.  The angry mob covered his clothes with dust and ashes.  They demanded miracles.  But at this time he had only truths to declare,—­those saving truths which are perpetual miracles.  At last hostilities began.  He was threatened and he was persecuted.  They laid plots to take his life.  He sought shelter in the castle of his uncle, Abu Taleh; but he died.  Then Mohammed’s wife Cadijeh died.  The priests of an idolatrous religion became furious.  He had laid his hands on their idols.  He was regarded as a disorganizer, an innovator, a most dangerous man.  His fortunes became darker and darker; he was hated, persecuted, and alone.