Never did John MacLear lift his eyes heavenward
without a vague feeling that he might that very moment, catch a sight of
the glory of his coming Lord; if ever he fixed his eyes on the far horizon,
it was never without receiving a shadowy suggestion that, like a sail
towering over the edge of the world, the first great flag of the Lord's
hitherward march might that moment be rising between earth and heaven;--for
certainly He would come unawares, and then who could tell what moment be
might not set his foot on the edge of the visible, and come out of the
dark in which he had hitherto clothed himself as with a garment--to appear
in the ancient glory of his transfiguration! Thus he was ever ready to fall
a watching--and thus, also, never did he play the false prophet, with cries
of "Lo here!" and "Lo there!" And even when deepest lost in watching, the
lowest whisper of humanity seemed always loud enough to recall him to his
"work alive"--lest he should be found asleep at His coming. His was the
same live readiness that had opened the ear of Maggie to the cry of the
little one on the hill-side.
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