 Section 9 of In Galilee by Thornton Chase. In the forenoon of the last day Abdul Baha called each one of us separately to his reception room for a private interview and definite instruction. He said he wished for us to remain longer, but on account of threatening troubles, it was better that we should go. Certain messages and communications were given to him by us, which he took and marked for later consideration. He bade us carry his message of love and happiness to the friends, and urged the utmost importance of unity and harmony of all believers. With such unity the cause of God would prosper and spread rapidly. Without it, there could be no progress. He hoped that he should hear of our work in America. At the last meal, he spoke of the building of the temple in this country, and said it was of very great importance and should become a means of blessed association and unity among the friends. I did not say goodbye. Soon after the noon meal, Abdul Baha met me in the little upper court. He embraced this servant, and, moving away a few feet, he turned, looked steadily, and pronounced a promise that is a precious memory and hope. Then he went into the apartments of the household. A little later, we were called to go. We descended the old stone stairway with friends watching us from the grated windows, crossed the lower court, passed through the archway, and out to the carriage awaiting us. As we entered the world again, it was with a sort of chill, as when one steps from a warm room into a cold night air. Curious eyes watched us as we rode again through the city, the cramped streets and crooked ways to the outer gate where we waited for the third horse of the team. There, we were surrounded by vendors and beggars calling out the names of the loved one we had left, evidently hoping thus to extract money from us. We had descended from a realm of happiness, peace, and light to an underworld of greed and strife. Never before had we so perceived the ignorance and animalism which possesses men, and at first we shrank from them. But when we noted their condition, their sickness, their burdens and griefs, a longing tenderness welled up in our hearts toward them, and to all creatures, a great wish to pour out on them the fragrances of peace, good will, and love, to lift them up from darkness to light, from ignorance to knowledge, from hell to heaven, and to serve them even to extinction of self. The contrast between the world and that prison we had left was so strong that it intensified the consciousness of that heavenly condition in which we had dwelt during those blessed days and nights. The tomb and the resvan. When we had left the city, Mirza Monir, the faithful interpreter, joined us, and we drove two miles to the Garden of Bahji and visited the Tomb of Bahá'u'lláh. There we removed our shoes and entered that consecrated place with melting hearts. In the large outer room or court were beautiful rugs, vases and flowers, and a central garden railed around. A little breeze came through the open windows and caused the many glass prism, pendant from lamps and chandeliers, to jangle sweetly together. It was a soft chiming in the silence, fitting and beautiful. Each one alone entered the inner chamber of the tomb, and remained as long as possible, communing with God and remembering the friends far away before the presence which unmistakably was there. Again, we were constrained to silence, for each soul was occupied with his God. It was the culmination of our pilgrimage. From there, we drove a short distance to the Garden of the Resvan, met the old gardener Mirza Abul Qasim, took tea with him under the spreading mulberry trees, the tent without poles or covering, and rested by the seat which was over land and water, where the great manifestation used to sit. We saw his plain room in the house at the end of the garden, and noted how tenderly everything was preserved and cared for. We sympathized with Mirza Abul Qasim in his pride and love for that garden of his Lord. The thoughts and emotions of years were crowded for us into that one day. We were overwhelmed with love, praise, and thankfulness. Through all the nine mile drive to Haifa, we scarcely spoke, for words disturbed the oceans in our souls. Like tired and happy children, we went again to the hospice of the little child. On my return to America, I found the friends eager to hear my impressions of Aqa and especially of Abdul Baha, and I have tried to tell some what of them in this and other writings. But the certain, clear, and correct expression of him is that which he declares in his own words, namely that he is Abdul Baha, the servant of glory, that is the servant of God, that he has no station, no purpose, no claim, no wish, no existence, except that of Abdul Baha. He asks most earnestly that no one shall ascribe to him any mission or station other than that of the servant of God. Those who really desire to obey his will and comply with his wish rather than to uphold their own imaginations will do literally as he has requested. In truth, no title can be nobler than this, no glory is greater than service, no station higher than that of sacrifice, no honor greater than to be the instrument of the spirit. He who serves God is truly in the image of God, and he who sacrifices himself for love of man is the exemplar of the love of God. It is enough that Abdul Baha is the example and leader of all mankind in service, sacrifice, love, and peace, fulfilling before all the law of the kingdom as declared by the great manifestation Baha'u'llah.