The fourth day they climbed the wild, steep, robber-haunted
road from the Jordan valley to the highlands of Judea, and so came
at sundown to their camp-ground among friends and neighbors on the
closely tented slope of the Mount of Olives, over against Jerusalem.
What an evening that was for the Boy! His first sight of the holy
city, the city of the great king, the city lifted up and exalted
on the sides of the north, beautiful for situation, the joy of the
whole earth! He had dreamed of her glory as he listened at his
mother's knee to the wonder-tales of David and Solomon and the
brave adventures of the fighting Maccabees. He had prayed for the
peace of Jerusalem every night as he kneeled by his bed and lifted
his hands toward the holy place. He had tried a thousand times to
picture her strength and her splendor, her marvels and mysteries,
her multitude of houses and her vast bulwarks, as he strayed among
the humble cottages of Nazareth or sat in the low doorway of his
own home.
Now his dream had come true. He looked into the face of Jerusalem,
just across the deep, narrow valley of the Kidron, where the shadows
of the evening were rising among the tombs.
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