Jerusalem itself was not only a great city, it was a boisterous and
boiling city, crowded with visitors from all parts of the world,
merchants and travellers, princes and beggars, citizens of Rome
and children of the Desert. There were strange sights to be seen
there, and all kinds of things were sold in the markets. So while
the heart of young Nazareth longed for it, the heart of older
Nazareth was not without anxieties and apprehensions in regard to
the first pilgrimage.
This was doubly true in the home of the Boy of whom I speak. He was
the first-born, the darling of his parents, a lad beloved by all
who knew him. His mother hung on him with mystical joy and hope.
He was the apple of her eye. Deep in her soul she kept the memory
of angelic words which had come to her while she carried him under
her heart--words which made her believe that her son would be
the morning-star of Israel and a light unto the Gentiles. So she
cherished the Boy and watched over him with tender, unfailing care,
as her most precious possession, her living, breathing, growing
treasure.
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