But, notwithstanding the opposition, men did believe; and in one day three thousand acknowledged their belief in the sincerity of the teacher, and in the doctrines which he taught.

Impressed deeply with the reality and divinity of his mission,—­looking to God as his father, and to all mankind as his brethren,—­Jesus continued his way.  To the scoffs and jeers of the rabble, he replied in meekness and love; and amid the proud and lofty he walked humbly, ever conscious of the presence of an angelic power, which would silence the loudest, and render powerless the might of human strength.

He spoke as one having authority.  He condemned the formalism of their worship; declared a faith that went deeper than exterior rites and ceremonies; and spoke with an independence and fearlessness such deep and soul-searching truths, that the people took up stones to stone him, and the priests and the rulers held council together against him.

At length the excited populace, beholding their cherished faith undermined, and the new teacher day by day inculcating doctrines opposed to those of Moses and the prophets, determined to take his life, and thus terminate his labors and put a stop to his heresies.

They watched his every movement.  They stood by and caught the words as they fell from his lips, hoping thus to get something by which to form an accusation against him.  In this they failed.  Though what he said was contrary to their time-worn dogmas, yet nothing came from his lips but sentiments of the purest love, the injunctions of reason and justice, and the language of humanity.  Failing in this plan to ensnare him, justice was set abide, and force called in to their aid.

See him now before a great tribunal, and Pilate, troubled in soul, compelled to say, “I find no fault in this man.”

Urged to action by the mad crowd around him, balancing his decision between justice, the prisoner’s release, and injustice, the call to crucify him, he knows not what to do.  In an agony of thought, which pen cannot describe or human words portray, he delays his irrevocable doom.

In the mean time, the persecutors grow impatient; and louder than ever, from the chief priests and the supporters of royalty, goes up the infamous shout, “Crucify him, crucify him!” At this moment, the undecided, fearful Pilate casts a searching glance about him.  As he beholds the passionate people, eager for the blood of one man, and he innocent, and sees, standing in their midst, the meek and lowly Jesus, calm as an evening zephyr over Judea’s plains, from whose eye flows the gentle love of an infinite divinity,—­his face beaming in sympathy with every attribute of goodness, faith and humanity,—­all this, too, before his mad, unjust accusers, from whose eyes flash in mingled rays the venom of scorn and hate,—­his mind grows strong with a sense of right.  His feelings will not longer be restrained, and, unconscious of his position, forgetting for the moment the dignity of his office, he exclaims, with the most emphatic earnestness, “What is truth?”