I advanced no nearer. I knelt in prayer. I did not weep. He who has lived
in both worlds, cannot be greatly stirred by the mutations of this. I
turned away, thinking of our beautiful house in the heavens, and sighing
to myself,
“It is well! It is well!”
My heart now turned to John. I sailed from Marseilles, bound for
Alexandria, where I expected to take ship for Ephesus. We never reached
Alexandria. After we passed the island of Sicily a series of terrible
storms commenced, and our little vessel was driven about like a feather on
the sea. Our hardships were great, and our labor in vain. After many days
our vessel sprang a leak, and we were compelled to abandon her, or go to
the bottom with her. Our boat stood bravely for the shore, where some
lofty mountains loomed up through the night air. We were capsized, and I
lost consciousness. When I recovered my senses it was daylight. The little
boat was beached quite near me. My companions were all drowned. I was
utterly alone.
I was wrecked at the foot of the western range of Mount Lebanon, on the
coast of Phenicia. I found a large and dry cave half-way up the first
great spur that overlooks the sea. I have made this my home. I turned
fisherman for a living—for I had lost all with the ship—and the little
boat was serviceable for that. I exchanged my fish with the people a
little way from the coast, for other articles more needed.
Thus I have lived for several years. Here I have written this manuscript.
I have chosen the Greek language for its composition, because I am
familiar with it, and because I believe the words of Eschylus and Homer
will be more durable than the marbles of Athens.
One more page and it will be finished. Its inspiration withdrawn from me,
my life will be more desolate than ever. I shall seal it up carefully, and
conceal it in some safe place for the eyes and ears of a future generation
wiser and better than this. I shall then turn to Death and say, “I salute
thee.”
I shall not wait long. After I left my prison in Antioch and mingled with
the turbulent tide of human life, my spiritual visions left me, my
spiritual senses were closed. They are opening again. I have the old,
beautiful dreams. I hear the same heavenly music. I see the same auroral
and rainbow flashes of light. These now are prophecies of death—nay,
rather of life, of heaven. The gates stand ajar.
My eyes, my hopes, my heart are steadily fixed on that Land of Beauty,
where the Son of the Desert will be united to Martha; and John the Baptist
to Mary; and Lazarus to Magdalen; and all—all to Christ!
_BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME._