in the throes of one of the terrible revolutions of the worst days of imperial rome—when probably the cruelest mob and most licentious soldiery of all time were raging round the palace of the c?sars, and the chances of an hour would decide whether galba or otho should rule the world, the alternative being a violent death—an officer of the guard, one julius atticus, rushed into galba’s presence with a bloody sword, boasting that he had slain his rival, otho. “my comrade, by whose order?” was his only greeting from the old pagan chief. and the story has come down through eighteen centuries, in the terse, strong sentences of the great historian, tacitus.

comrade, who ordered thee? whose will art thou doing? it is the question which has to be asked of every fighting man, in whatever part of the great battlefield he comes to the front, and determines the manliness[25] of soldier, statesman, parson, of every strong man, and suffering woman.

“three roots bear up dominion; knowledge, will,

these two are strong; but stronger still the third,

obedience: ’tis the great tap-root, which still

knit round the rock of duty, is not stirred,

though storm and tempest spend their utmost skill.”

i think that the more thoroughly we sift and search out this question the more surely we shall come to this as the conclusion of the whole matter. tenacity of will, or wilfulness, lies at the root of all courage, but courage can only rise into true manliness when the will is surrendered; and the more absolute the surrender of the will the more perfect will be the temper of our courage and the strength of our manliness.

“strong son of god, immortal love,”

the laureate has pleaded, in the moment of his highest inspiration.

“our wills are ours to make them thine.”

and that strong son of god to whom this cry has gone up in our day, and in all days, has left us the secret of his strength in the words, “i am come to do the will of my father and your father.”