the last supper

the last supper THE daylight came. I rose at dawn. I busied myself for an hour or
two with arranging my things in my chamber, drawers, and wardrobe,
in the order wherein I should wish to leave them during a brief
absence. Meantime, I heard St. John quit his room. He stopped at my
door: I feared he would knock- no, but a slip of paper was passed
under the door. I took it up. It bore these words-
'You left me too suddenly last night. Had you stayed but a little
longer, you would have laid your hand on the Christian's cross and the
angel's crown. I shall expect your clear decision when I return this
day fortnight. Meantime, watch and pray that you enter not into
temptation: the spirit, I trust, is willing, but the flesh, I see,
the last supper
is weak. I shall pray for you hourly.- Yours, ST. JOHN.'
'My spirit,' I answered mentally, 'is willing to do what is
right; and my flesh, I hope, is strong enough to accomplish the will
of Heaven, when once that will is distinctly known to me. At any rate,
it shall be strong enough to search- inquire- to grope an outlet
from this cloud of doubt, and find the open day of certainty.'
It was the first of June; yet the morning was overcast and
chilly: rain beat fast on my casement. I heard the front-door open,
and St. John pass out. Looking through the window, I saw him
the last supper