Around the mountains and plains, the hills and valleys of Palestine, what sacred associations cluster! How favored are the eyes that look upon those rocky slopes and summits, those green vales and wiled glens, the crystal fountain, stream or lake— the same as of old— and how privileged the feet that tread where mighty warriors, loyal monarchs, inspired prophets and apostles, and, above all, the world’s Redeemer, left their foot prints! So I left as we began the ascent of Mount Tabor about three o’clock in the afternoon. Our path wound around the western base of the mountain where by a narrow vale it is separated from the hills about Nazareth. We passed over the northern side in our gradual ascent, and found it considerably covered with moderate-sized trees, mostly oak, crowned with a fresh, green, luxuriant foliage. We saw no other hill or mountain in Palestine adorned with such a forest. It was a pleasant and home-like sight. On the summit is an oblong area or nearly level surface about half a mile in length east and west, and a quarter mile in width, surrounded by masses of old masonry or wall-like structures built of ledges of the natural rock. The last preserved of these relics is a Saracenie arch called the “Tower of the Winds.” Tangled thickets of thorn, dwarf oak, and thistles, half cover the ruins, rendering some places difficult of exploration.
But the eye is eager to be drinking in the glorious view which this mountain top affords. It is a normal afternoon, clear and still; the sun is nearing the horizon over the hills of Nazareth, and the whole scene with its associations— the far-spread panorama of diversified objects of strange and sacred interest— seems to throw an extatic spell over the mind, as I stand on that gray-grown arch, the highest point, and look around in every direction with silent wonder and inexpressible delight. First of all I am looking over the plain toward the southwest to a vast craterlike opening or basin, some fifteen miles distant, where I know reposes the most memorable, sacred and lovely lake in the world. Yes there it is— the Sea of Galilee!— and I see it now, a glimpse of its clear waters at its northwestern shore, near the sites of Capernaum, Chorasin and Bethsaida, O blessed vision— rapturous moment! The long cherished desire is being fulfilled. I behold a portion of that sea to which I have so often gone in thought and imagination and lingered