“How long is it,” asked an old Mohammedan woman in Bengal, “since Jesus died for sinful people? Look at me! I am old; I have prayed, I have given alms, I have gone to the holy shrines, I am become as dust with fasting; and all this is useless. Where have you been all this time?”
That cry was echoed from the icy shores of the farthest North-West Territory.
“You have been many moons in this land,” said an old Eskimo to the Bishop of Selkirk, ‘did’ you know this good news then? Since you were a boy? and your fathers knew? then why did you not come sooner?”
It was heard in the snowy heights of the Andes.
“How is it,” asked a Peruvian, “that during all the years of my life I. never before heard that Jesus Christ spoke those precious words?”
It was repeated in the white streets of Casablanca.
“Why,” cried a Moor to a Bible-seller, “have you not run everywhere with this Book? Why do so many of my people not know the Jesus whom it proclaims? Shame on you!”
It is the cry from the four winds. How shall we answer it?