The Sea of Faith
  Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
  Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl’d. 
  But now I only hear
  Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar
  Retreating to the breath
  Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
  And naked shingles of the world.

Day by day, as we live, we see the disintegration of that which Christianity means, the shattering of that brotherly love that makes men nations and nations the children of God.  Not without truth did Shylock say of his money that he made it breed.  The pieces of silver have bred well; they jingle to-day in the pockets of millions of betrayers.

These thirty pieces did not pass out of currency, though the land that they bought was left desolate.  They passed from hand to hand among the covetous throughout the first centuries of Christianity.  The Jews clung to them as if they were life itself; but the early Christians, having something very much better than money to live for, coveted them not.  And as long as the money remained with the Jews Christianity flourished.  The two symbols opposed one another, and there was no question but that the Cross triumphed.  Only when the Christians turned their backs on the Cross and hankered after the silver did the eternal nature of the betrayal manifest itself.  When the Saracens began to be fought, not only by swords and faith but by the aid of Jewish money, and with the pomp and circumstance of war, then already Judas had been to the priests.  When the knight or baron bequeathed the thirty Jewish pieces to the monastery Judas was already kissing the Master.  When the hand that held the Cross loosened to take the silver, when the monks took the treasure of Earth and relinquished the treasure of Heaven, Jesus was already taken.  It was but a short way to the crucifixion.  The silver profiteth no man.

Where are the thirty pieces of silver now?  Where are they not?  When the rich holiday-maker comes scattering money in peaceful mountain valleys; when the peasant’s son, infected by the idea of money, comes to town for his thirty shillings a week; when for the want of another thirty shillings he refuses to marry; when to save his mind some evangelical society—­so called—­accepts thirty shillings “charity”; when the millionaire leaves thirty thousand pounds to the hospitals to save his body; when a minister is paid three hundred pounds a year to save his soul; when a member of Parliament receives thirty pounds a month to remedy his social wrongs; when the love of the country girl he should have married is won by some rich man who thinks he can pay for it—­on all these occasions and yet more, to examples innumerable, the curse of Judas shows itself, till every brick of our evil industrial cities is shown mortared round in bright silver hate.

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