His mother heard his step, and turned toward
him, but in place of the homesick longing he had expected to see in
her eyes, there was a look that thrilled his soul.
"What is it, my mother?" he asked, gently.
"Timokles," she answered softly, "I was thinking but now of
Alexandria and of our dear home there. Timokles, if God had not
driven me into the desert, would I ever have found him?"
Timokles trembled with exceeding joy. Could she be speaking of the
real God, not of Egypt's idols?
"Hast thou found Him--the Christian's God--my mother?" he asked
tremulously.
A holy awe looked from his mother's face.
"Did not his Son say, 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast
out'?" she answered. "I have come to him, Timokles--even I, the
former worshiper of Isis--and he hath not cast me out."
"O my mother!" murmured Timokles, overcome by the glad tidings.
"What more can I ask of him than this!"
The sun sank, and Heraklas raised for the little company the evening
hymn of the early church. His mother's voice rose clear and sweet,
as all sang:
"Children, praise the Lord, Praise ye the name of the Lord. We
praise thee, we hymn thee, we bless thee, Because of the greatness
of thy glory. O Lord the King, the Father of Christ, Of the spotless
Lamb who taketh away The sin of the world, To thee belongeth praise,
To thee belongeth song, To thee belongeth glory, to the God And
Father, through the Son, in the Spirit, To the Most Holy, unto ages
of ages.
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