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Jesus was born in an obscure village, the Son of humble people. He grew up in that small town and worked with His father in a carpenter shop until He was thirty.
Then for three years He was an itinerant preacher. He was only thirty-three when the opinion of the tyrants and ill wishers turned against Him.
Some of His friends deserted Him. He was turned over to His enemies and went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed to a cross between two thieves. While He was dying His executioners gambled for His clothing. When He was dead He was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and He is the worshipped figure of the human race and the leader of mankind's progress.
All the armies that ever marched. All the navies that ever sailed, All the parliaments that ever met. All the kings and rulers that have ever reigned put together, have not affected the life of man on this earth as much as that One Solitary Life.
(Taken from an old Christmas card, no author is mentioned)