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0213 Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1
Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1 / Page 213 (Grayscale High Resolution Image)

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doi: 10.20676/00000231
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The Christian looks through such symbolic lights
and sees the suffering martyr, save where Rome, in
substitution, answering the heart's cry for beauty
and for love, has set Mary's beatific face; then,
above, he sees the radiance of the risen Saviour who
beckons to Him, to *the self*, and smiles a welcome
to that self in its eternal individuality. How should
the souls of men be gloriously tried if each might
meditate quiet hours; first in a noble cathedral, with
its *via crucis*, its saints, its woman-god, its Christ
crucified and triumphant; passing thence to a near-
by temple, where the silent, brooding peace of the
Buddha might be contemplated while time and self
slip unnoticed by; then, moving the body but a
stone's throw, entering a lofty mosque, untenanted
by statue or by picture, unfurnished save by the
Koran on a reading-desk, empty save of the felt
presence of the only God. This was an insistent
thought as we wandered through the sanctuaries on
the high hill at Leh. At my side one, a priest of
Christ; another, reverential before the Buddha's
altar which he daily tended; and, waiting at the
door, faithful Lassoo, looking toward Mecca as the
sun sank behind the Himalayas.
The king's palace, a rambling, uneven, dark but
imposing structure, is now unpeopled. Across the
Indus, yonder a dozen miles away, lives the illus-
trious, once royal, family, poor but honest. Power
has gone to the Dogra, and his power in turn has
become but a mirage, floating at the pleasure of the
British sun. One of the passions of kings all the
world over (this does not include Napoleon) seems
to be that for private chapels. Our Ladaki monarch
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