This was the sermon he preached: "In a little while He that shall come will not tarry.

Many shall say to Him in that day, 'Lord, Lord,' and He shall say, 'Depart from me; I never knew you.'" His voice, which had become very vehement, suddenly sank, and he was silent.
"Upon my word, that's queer," said one of the men who stood near the policeman.
"He's staring mad," said the other man in plain clothes.

"He should be in the asylum." This second man went away, but the first speaker and the policeman drew still nearer, and the congregation did not diminish, for the man who left was replaced by the poor woman with the checked shawl over her head who had first followed the preacher up the street, and who now appeared standing listening at a house corner.

She was well known in the village as the wife of a drunkard.
The old man began speaking again in softer voice, but there was the same odd variety of tones which had exciting effect.
"Why do you defraud your brother?
Why do you judge your brother?
Why do you set at nought your brother?
Inasmuch as you do it unto the least of these, you do it to Him." His voice died away again.

His strong face had become illumined, and he brought down his gaze toward the listeners.
"If any man shall do His will he shall know of the doctrine.