The Mount of Transfiguration

       We are ending our Palestine journey. We will, in a few hours, pass into Syria and to Damascus, and then to Beyrout, and so homeward. Two more nights in tent. We have had all the conveniences and comforts of the most improved modern travel. Every evening in the long march we have found fires builded, tents spread and warm food ready, for the reason that most of our caravan starts an hour and a half earlier in the morning We detain only two mules for carrying so much of our baggage as we might incidentally need, and a tent for a noonday luncheon. We are encamped now by Lake Merom, in proximity to which Joshua fought his last great battle, scattering the allied kings in such utter rout as only an army experiences when the Lord comes down in all His might against them. This is the place where the horses were hamstrung. Mount Hermon is in sight, on its brow a crystal coronet of ice and snow, for it is winter now. But in April these snows will melt and the dew will take its place. "As the dew of Hermon and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion, for there the Lord commanded the blessing, even life for ever more." This Hermon was the Mount of Transfiguration then, and to-day, by the bright clouds and a rainbow hovering, it is again, in its beauty and glory and almost supernatural radiance, a Mount of Transfiguration.

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