"Did you ever see the Lord Christ after that?" asked Joseph.
"Once only. My father and I were at Jerusalem at the passover. It was
the year before my father died, seventeen years ago; it was the same
week on which our Lord was crucified. My father was then an aged
man--fourscore and five years old. Our tent was pitched on the slope
of the Mount of Olives, near the Bethany road. While we sat there one
morning, a great noise of shouting was heard, and presently we saw one
riding on an ass, followed by a great company, crying 'Hosanna!' As we
drew nearer, we heard them say that it was Jesus of Nazareth; and,
when we saw His face, we knew that it was He, by the wonderful eyes,
though it was the face of a bearded man, and not of an infant, and was
very pale and sad. As He drew near to our tent, the city came full
into His view, with its gilded roofs and marble pinnacles, blazing
under the morning sun. Suddenly He paused in the way, and we heard Him
weeping aloud, though we could not hear His words of lamentation. The
multitude halted, too, when we did; and the cheering ceased, and some
of those who stood nearest Him wept also, though no one seemed to know
what had caused His grief. But soon they went on again, and before
they reached the foot of the hill another multitude met them, coming
forth from the city, and we heard their shouts of 'Hosanna in the
Highest!' as they entered the gate of Jerusalem.
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