When He died, few men mourned. But a black crepe was hung over the sun. Though men trembled not for their sins, the earth beneath them shook under the load. All nature honored Him. Sinners alone rejected Him. Corruption could not get hold of His body. The soil that had been reddened with His blood could not claim His dust.
He wrote no book, built no church house. But after nineteen hundred years, He is the one central character of human history, the pivot around which the events of the ages revolve, and the only Regenerator for the Human Race.
Was He merely the Son of Joseph and Mary, who crossed the world’s horizon nineteen hundred years ago. Was it merely human blood that was spilled at Calvary’s Hill for the redemption of sinners? What thinking man can keep from exclaiming: “My Lord and My God!”