Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Thoughts in Jerusalem, by Courtney N. Oleen
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shawls drawn tightly over their heads,—all were
animated by tbe same intense emotion. One of
the young men, carried on tbe shoulders of se ver al
others, acted as a kind of prompter, and with baton
in hand urged them at times to a fury of
shout-ing. As a nucleus to this mob was a group
of grey-haired patriarchs in ceremonial robes,
bear-ing aloft a bulky scroll of the ancient Sacred
Books. Standing on a narrow doorstep, and
pressed tightly against the wall, I looked down upon
this most unusual scene I was a visi t or from
another world, another age. What I saw before
me was a glimpse of ancient Jerusalem.
How many times, I thought, had not these
winding streets echoed and re-echoed the shouts
of mobs! How often had not vengeful passions,
bitter hatreds, enflamed the breasts of angry men
surging through these streets! “O, Jerusalem,
Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest
them that are sent unto thee! ’ ’ The fickle mob
that could one day enter triumphantly the gate
called Beautiful, filling the whole city with joyous,
exultant shouts of “Hosanna, blessed is He that
eometh in the name of the Lord!” could a few days
later raise the hideous, reiterated cry, “Crucify
him!” Through streets like these they had led
Him, His ears bursting with the lotbsome din; on,
past these unfriendly walls through whose prison-
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