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For your convenience Apress has placed some of the front
matter material after the index. Please use the Bookmarks
and Contents at a Glance links to access them.
Contents at a Glance

About the Authors����������������������������������������������������������������������������� xi

About the Technical Reviewer�������������������������������������������������������� xiii
Acknowledgments��������������������������������������������������������������������������� xv
Introduction����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� xvii

■■Chapter 1: Getting Started with Maven������������������������������������������ 1

■■Chapter 2: Setting Up Maven���������������������������������������������������������� 7
■■Chapter 3: Maven Dependency Management������������������������������� 15
■■Chapter 4: Maven Project Basics�������������������������������������������������� 23
■■Chapter 5: Maven Life Cycle��������������������������������������������������������� 37
■■Chapter 6: Maven Archetypes������������������������������������������������������ 47
■■Chapter 7: Documentation and Reporting������������������������������������ 63
■■Chapter 8: Maven Release������������������������������������������������������������ 77

Index������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 99

v
Introduction

Introducing Maven provides a concise introduction to Maven, the de facto standard

for building, managing, and automating Java and JEE-based projects in enterprises
throughout the world. The book starts by explaining the fundamental concepts of Maven
and showing you how to set up and test Maven on your local machine. It then delves
deeply into concepts such as dependency management, life cycle phases, plug-ins, and
goals. It also discusses project structure conventions, jump-starting project creation using
archetypes, and documentation and report generation. Finally, it concludes with
a discussion of Nexus and Maven’s release process.

How This Book Is Structured

Chapter 1 starts with a gentle introduction to Maven. It discusses reasons for adopting
Maven, and it provides an overview of its two alternatives: Ant and Gradle.
Chapter 2 focuses on setting up Maven on your machine and testing the installation.
It also provides an overview of Maven’s settings.xml file, and it shows you how to run
Maven in a HTTP proxy-enabled environment.
Chapter 3 delves deeply into Maven’s dependency management. It then discusses
the GAV coordinates Maven uses for uniquely identifying its artifacts. Finally, it covers
transitive dependencies and the impact they have on builds.
Chapter 4 discusses the organization of a basic Maven project and covers the
important elements of a pom.xml file. Then you learn about testing the project using JUnit.
Chapter 5 provides detailed coverage of Maven’s life cycle, plug-ins, build phases,
and goals. It then walks you through the process of creating and using a simple Maven
plug-in.
Chapter 6 introduces archetypes’ project templates that enable you to bootstrap new
projects quickly. The built-in archetypes are used to generate a Java project, a web project,
and a multimodule project. You will then create a custom archetype from scratch and use
it to generate a new project.
Chapter 7 covers the basics of site generation using Maven. It then discusses report
generation and documentation such as Javadocs, test coverage reports, and FindBugs
reports and how to integrate them into a Maven site.
Chapter 8 begins with a discussion of the Nexus repository manager and shows you
how it can be integrated with Maven. It then provides complete coverage of Maven’s
release process and its different phases.

xvii
■ Introduction

Target Audience
Introducing Maven is intended for developers and automation engineers who would like
to get started quickly with Apache Maven. This book assumes basic knowledge of Java. No
prior experience with Maven is required.

Downloading the Source Code

The source code for the examples in this book can be downloaded from
www.apress.com/9781484208427. The source code is also available on GitHub at
https://github.com/bava/gswm-book.
Once downloaded, unzip the code and place the contents in the
C:\apress\gswm-book folder. The source code is organized by individual chapters. Where
applicable, the chapter folders contain the gswm project with the bare minimum files to
get you started on that chapter’s code listings. The chapter folders also contain a folder
named final, which holds the expected end state of the project(s).

Questions
We welcome reader feedback. If you have any questions or suggestions, you can contact
the authors at [email protected] or [email protected].

xviii
Chapter 1

Getting Started with Maven

Like other craftsmen, software developers rely on their tools to build applications.
Developer’s integrated development environments (IDEs), bug-tracking tools, build tools,
frameworks, and debug tools, such as memory analyzers, play a vital role in day-to-day
development and maintenance of quality software. This book will discuss and explore
the features of Maven, which we know will become an important tool in your software
development arsenal.
Apache Maven is an open source, standards-based project management framework
that simplifies the building, testing, reporting, and packaging of projects. Maven’s initial
roots were in the Apache Jakarta Alexandria project that took place in early 2000. It was
subsequently used in the Apache Turbine project. Like many other Apache projects
at that time, the Turbine project had several subprojects, each with its own Ant-based
build system. Back then, there was a strong desire for developing a standard way to build
projects and to share generated artifacts easily across projects. This desire gave birth to
Maven. Maven version 1.0 was released in 2004, followed by version 2.0 in 2005. At the
time of writing this book, 3.0.5 is the current version of Maven.
Maven has become one of the most widely used open source software programs in
enterprises around the world. Let’s look at some of the reasons why Maven is so popular.

Standardized Directory Structure

Often, when we start work on a new project, a considerable amount of time is spent
deciding on the project layout and folder structure needed to store code and configuration
files. These decisions can vary vastly across projects and teams, which can make it difficult
for new developers to understand and adopt other teams’ projects. It can also make it hard
for existing developers to jump between projects and find what they are seeking.
Maven addresses the above problems by standardizing the folder structure and
organization of a project. Maven provides recommendations on where different parts
of a project, such as source code, test code, and configuration files, should reside.
For example, Maven suggests that all of the Java source code should be placed in the
src\main\java folder. This makes it easier to understand and navigate any Maven project.
Additionally, these conventions make it easy to switch to and start using a new IDE.
Historically, IDEs varied with project structure and folder names. A dynamic web project
in Eclipse might use the WebContent folder to store web assets, whereas NetBeans might
use Web Pages for the same purpose. With Maven, your projects follow a consistent
structure and become IDE agnostic.

1
Chapter 1 ■ Getting Started with Maven

Declarative Dependency Management

Most Java projects rely on other projects and open source frameworks to function
properly. It can be cumbersome to download these dependencies manually and keep
track of their versions as you use them in your project.
Maven provides a convenient way to declare these project dependencies in a
separate, external pom.xml file. It then automatically downloads those dependencies and
allows you to use them in your project. This simplifies project dependency management
greatly. It is important to note that in the pom.xml file you specify the what and not the
how. The pom.xml file can also serve as a documentation tool, conveying your project
dependencies and their versions.

Plug-ins
Maven follows a plug-in–based architecture, making it easy to augment and customize its
functionality. These plug-ins encapsulate reusable build and task logic. Today, there are
hundreds of Maven plug-ins available that can be used to carry out tasks ranging from
code compilation to packaging to project documentation generation.
Maven also makes it easy to create your own plug-ins, thereby enabling you to
integrate tasks and workflows that are specific to your organization.

Uniform Build Abstraction

Maven provides a uniform interface for building projects. You can build a Maven project
by using just a handful of commands. Once you become familiar with Maven’s build
process, you can easily figure out how to build other Maven projects. This frees developers
from having to learn build idiosyncrasies so they can focus more on development.

Tools Support
Maven provides a powerful command-line interface to carry out different operations.
All major IDEs today provide excellent tool support for Maven. Additionally, Maven is
fully integrated with today’s continuous integration products such as Jenkins, Bamboo,
and Hudson.

Archetypes
As we already mentioned, Maven provides a standard directory layout for its projects.
When the time comes to create a new Maven project, you need to build each directory
manually, and this can easily become tedious. This is where Maven archetypes come to
rescue. Maven archetypes are predefined project templates that can be used to generate
new projects. Projects created using archetypes will contain all of the folders and files
needed to get you going.

2
 Chapter 1 ■ Getting Started with Maven

Archetypes is also a valuable tool for bundling best practices and common assets
that you will need in each of your projects. Consider a team that works heavily on Spring
framework-based web applications. All Spring-based web projects share common
dependencies and require a set of Spring configuration files. It is also highly possible that
all of these web projects have similar Log4j/Logback configuration files, CSS/Images, and
Apache Tile layouts or SiteMesh decorators. Maven lets this team bundle these common
assets into an archetype. When new projects get created using this archetype, they will
automatically have the common assets included. No more copy and pastes or drag and
drops required.

Open Source
Maven is open source and costs nothing to download and use. It comes with rich online
documentation and the support of an active community. Additionally, companies such as
Sonatype offer commercial support for the Maven ecosystem.

CONVENTION OVER CONFIGURATION

Convention over configuration (CoC) or coding by convention is one of the key

tenants of Maven. Popularized by the Ruby on Rails community, CoC emphasizes
sensible defaults, thereby reducing the number of decisions to be made. It saves
time and also results in a simpler end product, as the amount of configuration
required is drastically reduced.
As part of its CoC adherence, Maven provides several sensible defaults for its
projects. It lays out a standard directory structure and provides defaults for
the generated artifacts. Imagine looking at a Maven artifact with the name
log4j-1.4.3.jar. At a glance, you can easily see that you are looking at a log4j
JAR file, version 1.4.3.
One drawback of Maven’s CoC is the rigidness that end users experience when
using it. To address this, you can customize most of Maven’s defaults. For example,
it is possible to change the location of the Java source code in your project. As a rule
of thumb, however, such changes to defaults should be minimized.

3
Chapter 1 ■ Getting Started with Maven

Maven Alternatives
Although the emphasis of this book is on Maven, let’s look at a couple of its alternatives:
Ant + Ivy and Gradle.

Ant + Ivy
Apache Ant (http://ant.apache.org) is a popular open source tool for scripting builds.
Ant is Java based, and it uses Extensible Markup Language (XML) for its configuration.
The default configuration file for Ant is the build.xml file.
Using Ant typically involves defining tasks and targets. As the name suggests, an
Ant task is a unit of work that needs to be completed. Typical tasks involve creating a
directory, running a test, compiling source code, building a web application archive
(WAR) file, and so forth. A target is simply a set of tasks. It is possible for a target to
depend on other targets. This dependency lets us sequence target execution. Listing 1-1
demonstrates a simple build.xml file with one target called compile. The compile target
has two echo tasks and one javac task.

Listing 1-1. Sample Ant build.xml File

<project name="Sample Build File" default="compile" basedir=".">

<target name="compile" description="Compile Source Code">

<echo message="Starting Code Compilation"/>
<javac srcdir="src" destdir="dist"/>
<echo message="Completed Code Compilation"/>
</target>

</project>

Ant doesn’t impose any conventions or restrictions on your project and it is

known to be extremely flexible. This flexibility has sometimes resulted in complex,
hard-to-understand and maintain build.xml files.
Apache Ivy (http://ant.apache.org/ivy/) provides automated dependency
management, making Ant more joyful to use. With Ivy, you declare the dependencies
in an XML file called ivy.xml, as shown in Listing 1-2. Integrating Ivy with Ant involves
declaring new targets in the build.xml file to retrieve and resolve dependencies.

Listing 1-2. Sample Ivy Listing

<ivy-module version="2.0">
<info organisation="com.apress" module="gswm-ivy" />

<dependencies>
<dependency org="org.apache.logging.log4j" name="log4j-api"
rev="2.0.2" />
</dependencies>
</ivy-module>

4
 Chapter 1 ■ Getting Started with Maven

Gradle
Gradle (http://gradle.org/) is the newest addition to the Java build project automation
tool family. Unlike Ant and Maven, which use XML for configuration, Gradle uses a
Groovy-based Domain Specific Language (DSL).
Gradle provides the flexibility of Ant, and it uses the same notion of tasks. It also
follows Maven’s conventions and dependency management style. Listing 1-3 shows a
default build.gradle file.

Listing 1-3. Default build.gradle File

apply plugin: 'java'

version = '1.0'

repositories {
mavenCentral()
}

dependencies {
testCompile group: 'junit', name: 'junit', version: '4.10'
}

Gradle’s DSL and its adherence to CoC results in compact build files. The first
line in Listing 1-3 includes a Java plug-in for build’s use. Plug-ins in Gradle provide
preconfigured tasks and dependencies to the project. The Java plug-in, for example,
provides tasks for building source files, running unit tests, and installing artifacts.
The dependencies section in the default.build file instructs Gradle to use JUnit
dependency during the compilation of test source files. Gradle’s flexibility, like that of
Ant, can be abused, which results in difficult and complex builds.

Summary
Apache Maven greatly simplifies the build process and automates project management
tasks. This chapter provided a gentle introduction to Maven and described the main
reasons for adopting it. We also looked at Maven’s close peers: Ant + Ivy and Gradle.
In the next chapter, you will learn about the set up required to get up and running
with Maven.

5
Chapter 2

Setting Up Maven

Maven installation is an easy and straightforward process. This chapter will explain how
to install and set up Maven using the Windows 7 operating system. You can follow the
same procedure with other operating systems.

■■Note Maven is a Java-based application and requires the Java Development Kit (JDK)
to function properly. Maven version 3.2 requires JDK 1.6 or above and versions 3.0/3.1 can
be run using JDK 1.5 or above. Before proceeding with Maven installation, make sure that
you have Java installed. If not, install the JDK (not just Java Runtime Environment [JRE])
from http://www.oracle.com/technetwork/java/javase/downloads/index.html.
In this book, we will be using JDK 1.7.

You will begin the installation process by downloading the latest version of Maven
from the Apache Maven web site (http://maven.apache.org/download.html). At the
time of this writing, the latest version is 3.2.3. Download the Maven 3.2.3 binary .zip file
as shown in Figure 2-1.

Figure 2-1. Maven download page

7
Chapter 2 ■ Setting Up Maven

Once the download is complete, unzip the distribution to a local directory on your
computer. It will create a folder named apache-maven-3.2.3-bin. This book assumes that
you have placed the contents of apache-maven-3.2.3-bin folder under c:\tools\maven
directory, as shown in Figure 2-2.

Figure 2-2. Maven install location

The next step in the installation process is to add the M2_HOME environment variable
pointing to the Maven installation directory, in our case c:\tools\maven. Launch the
Start menu, and right-click the Computer option. Next select System Properties followed
by the Advanced system settings. This will launch the window shown in Figure 2-3.

8
 Chapter 2 ■ Setting Up Maven

Figure 2-3. System Properties window

Click the Environment Variables button, and then click New under System variables.
Enter the values shown in Figure 2-4 and click OK.

Figure 2-4. Maven Home system variable

9
Chapter 2 ■ Setting Up Maven

The final step in the process is to modify the Path Environment variable so that you
can run Maven commands from the command line. Select the Path variable and click Edit.
Add %M2_HOME%/bin at the beginning of the path value, as shown in Figure 2-5. Click OK.
This completes the Maven installation. If you have any open command-line windows, close
them and reopen a new command-line window. When environment variables are added or
modified, new values are not propagated to open command-line windows automatically.

Figure 2-5. Adding Maven Home to the path variable

MAVEN_OPTS ENVIRONMENT VARIABLE

When using Maven, especially in a complex project, chances are that you will run
into OutOfMemory errors. This may happen, for example, when you are running a
large number of JUnit tests or when you are generating a large number of reports.
To address this error, increase the heap size of the Java virtual machine (JVM)
used by Maven. This is done globally by creating a new environment variable called
MAVEN_OPTS. To begin, we recommend using the value -Xmx512m.

Testing Installation
Now that Maven is installed, it’s time to test and verify the installation. Open a Command
Prompt and run the following command:

mvn –v

This command should output information similar to the following:

C:\Windows\System32>mvn -v
Apache Maven 3.2.3 (33f8c3e1027c3ddde99d3cdebad2656a31e8fdf4;
2014-08-11T14:58:10-06:00)
Maven home: c:\tools\maven
Java version: 1.7.0_25, vendor: Oracle Corporation
Java home: C:\Java\jdk1.7.0_25\jre
Default locale: en_US, platform encoding: Cp1252
OS name: "windows 7", version: "6.1", arch: "x86", family: "windows"

10
 Chapter 2 ■ Setting Up Maven

The –v command-line option tells the path where Maven is installed and what
Java version it is using. You would also get the same results by running the expanded
command mvn --version.

Getting Help
You can get a list of Maven’s command-line options by using the –h or --help options.
Running the command below will produce output similar to that shown in Figure 2-6.

mvn -h

Figure 2-6. Results of running Maven Help command

Additional Settings
The installation steps we have provided so far are enough to get you started with
Maven. However, for most enterprise uses, you need to provide additional configuration
information. This user-specific configuration is provided in a settings.xml file located in
the c:\Users\<<user_name>>\.m2 folder.

11
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
marchers. Out over the hills of Bethlehem, hidden now by the night,
bright stars were shining. We fell upon our knees and worshiped
Him.
 I GO OVER TO BETHLEHEM

There was a baby born in Bethlehem.

I know they say
That this and that’s in doubt, and, for the rest
That learned men who surely should know best
Explain how myths crept in, and followers’ tales confused the truth.

I know—but anyway
There was a baby born in Bethlehem
Who lived and grew and loved and healed and taught
And died—but not to me.
When Christmas comes I see Him still arise,
The gentle, the compassionate, the wise,
Wiping Earth’s tears away, stilling her strife;
Calling, “My path is Peace; My way is Life!”
—Author Unknown.
 I GO OVER TO BETHLEHEM

I t was clear and cold. The hills of Moab were deep blue. They
seemed very near. In a low carriage that bore every mark of long
service, drawn by two thin dark horses and driven by an Arab in a
dull brown Bedouin coat, with the long, heavy head-dress falling over
his shoulders and protecting him from rain or sun, we drove out
through the gate. Dark eyes watched us curiously. The horses at first
were swift of foot and the carriage lurched and rolled down the steep
grade of the valley of Hinnom, past the former German colony, over
the new bridge; then, losing their enthusiasm, they climbed slowly.
On a hillside the sheep were feeding, but how they could find enough
to sustain life on those bare rocky slopes is hard to understand. Now
we passed a flock following the shepherd in his vari-colored coat
down a steep incline and through a valley which in the rainy season
would be a rushing stream. We could hear the lambs call, and now
and then the shepherd’s reprimand to a straying sheep. Over there
were the fields of Boaz. How beautiful they must have looked when
the heavy sheaves of wheat were yellow in the sun. The land of Moab
seemed such a short distance away as we who had been half-way
round the world thought of distance, but to loyal, faithful, loving
Ruth those desert plains, rounded hills, and deep valleys meant
distance enough to separate her forever from the home and kindred
she must leave behind. The brave words came back to us: “Whither
thou goest, I will go; thy people shall be my people and thy God my
God.” She deserved the happiness she won out there in the fields as
she followed the reapers. As if agreeing with our unspoken thoughts
our guide turned and looked down at us. “Boaz, the owner of the
field, married Ruth, the Moabite girl. She was very beautiful,” he
said.
The wind was bleak on the hilltop as it was that night centuries ago
and we were glad when we reached the protection of the low stone
houses of the village of Bethlehem. Such a tiny village! Nothing was
left of the glory of that other day when the busy tax-gatherers
checked up the names of the people and the keeper of the Inn
hurried about trying in vain to find room for his guests, when officers
of the army in resplendent uniform and civil officers proud and
haughty made every Jewish pilgrim conscious of the power of great
Rome.
Nothing remains of the old inn or khan which was crowded on that
night to its very gates. Thankful indeed must both Joseph and Mary
have been for the protection of the cave with its great manger hewn
out of the rock. Over that spot to which they went so gratefully for
shelter now stands the Church of the Nativity. It is a simple beautiful
church, but the shrines within are garish indeed.
By General Allenby’s command, the high forbidding walls of stone
that have so long divided the interior and marred its beauty have
been taken down. The walls had formerly separated the church into
sections claimed by the various faiths. The nave of the church
belongs to the Greeks, one transept to the Coptic Christians, the
other to the Armenians. The Romanists have built a church and
monastery close beside the little church of the Nativity, but
worshipers could only reach the grotto to kneel at the manger of
stone through a devious, difficult underground path. When the Turks
captured Palestine they compelled the Armenians to open a passage
through their wall that the Romanists might enter. As we stepped
into the church we heard the chanting of their choir, and soon
through the door in the Armenian transept came priests and altar
boys in the rich robes of the church to say mass. We stood aside until
they had passed and only the echo of their voices could be heard
floating up from the cave below.
Ever since the coming of the Turks, Christmas and Easter services
have been marred by desperate quarreling and bloodshed. At each
service Turkish soldiers were on guard and swords and guns
punished offenders but were unable to prevent the paying of old
scores by Armenian and Romanist, Copt and Greek. The British
general was exceedingly anxious that no such quarrels should mar
the celebration of the first Christmas and Easter after the return of
the holy places into the hands of Christians, to be theirs no matter
what their creeds might be. In many languages, he made his appeal
to the people. The American Colony of Jerusalem was asked to be
present at the services to help quiet any trouble-makers, but they did
not wish to assume the responsibility. Therefore certain individual
members of the Red Cross Commission answered the General’s
appeal, and were present all day at the services, quietly warning any
of the rougher element who, as in the past days, attempted to start
trouble by taunting words. Not a British soldier was present. The
Commission members, wise, alert, and friendly, did their work well
and the day passed in dignified impressive worship for the first time
since the Turks took the Holy City. The General expressed his
gratitude in most cordial notes of thanks to the men who had so
successfully endeavored to carry out his wishes.
We waited until the mass was over and then, with our lighted
candles, went down into the shadowy grotto. Myth and legend,
superstitions weird and fantastic have gathered about all the sacred
places. While these things mean little to the modern Christian, he is
bound to respect the reverent belief in them held by many of his
comrades in the faith. With confidence the guide tells of the
hundreds of years the fire in the hidden place has burned, not once
going out, just as it has burned in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
at Jerusalem. If, as one kneels and prays, holding his taper close to
the opening, it is lighted by the unseen holy fire, rich blessings will
come to him and those he loves.
I shall never forget the thin, tired, sorrow-marked face of an
Armenian woman whose taper, as she knelt murmuring prayers,
suddenly caught the sacred flame. It was transformed. She went up
the shadowy steps in a transport of joy. Nor shall I soon forget the
face of a Russian woman as she swayed back and forth on her knees
in an agony of prayer. When at last she rose she could not stand and
a kindly attendant steadied her. He spoke to her in Russian and they
talked softly for a moment. She was in Jerusalem on a pilgrimage
when the war broke out. Her husband, her son, and a son-in-law
were in the Russian army. Of them she had had no word. She had
received a month since confirmation of the news of the death of her
two daughters in prison. She could not go back to her home in the
hot-bed of Bolshevism. She took a taper from the hand of a priest
and went toward the place of the holy fire.
 Copyright, Underwood
& Underwood

“’Twas a humble birthplace, but oh, how much

God gave to us that day!”

I was glad when we were in the fresh crisp air again, wandering
through the streets of the little village, stopping for a few moments
for coffee with a Syrian shopkeeper who wanted to sell us olive-wood
beads with a beautiful carved cross as pendant. His son, a boy of
twelve, spoke English. The father brought him out proudly. He
attended a Quaker school for boys over in Ramallah and was having
a holiday. The souvenirs offered for our inspection were poor tawdry
things, but the faces of the salesmen were so eager that we could not
disappoint them. Visitors had been exceedingly rare during the years
of the war and curious friendly eyes followed us hopefully
everywhere. There had been great excitement in the village that
morning. An Indian prince who was a Christian had visited the
church, had left a gift for the priests, had made purchases in all the
little shops—his taper had been lighted by the holy fire.
We were just about to go back to our carriage when, turning the
corner abruptly, we were face to face with the young Britisher and his
friend who had stood on the wall with us in the sunset the night
before. He was pointing out over the hills. We smiled our recognition
and asked if we too might hear of the coming of the army to
Bethlehem.
 “There is not much to tell,” he said, in the way of those who have
risked all in battle. He told us a little about the difficulty of the
fighting in the Judean Hills, the gigantic task of feeding the army and
supplying it with water, the intense sufferings of the men in the cold
drizzling rain and the chilling wind on the hills. Wrapping our own
coats tightly about us, we could understand something of what they
must have endured lying out on the bare unprotected hillsides as
they did those nights before the city of Jerusalem was captured. After
a moment he pointed out to us the hill Beit Jabor two miles
northwest of Bethlehem won by the Welsh Division troops and
opening the door for the entrance into Bethlehem, showed us the
great house just south of Bethlehem where the Turks had seven
mountain guns turned upon the road over which the troops must
pass. But a thick heavy impenetrable fog settled down and, taking the
risk, the heavy guns of the British passed up the road within easy
reach of the enemy had they known. “Whenever a fog settled down
like that, to our advantage, the boys would say, ‘the Lord sent a great
fog,’ or ‘the Lord hath covered the moon with a cloud’; but when rain
or moonlight favored the enemy they said nothing.” He smiled. “The
war is over,” he said, “yet it seems as if at any moment this silence
might be interrupted by the booming of a gun.” “God forbid!” said
our guide fervently. “We have had enough of guns.” We echoed his
words heartily as we said a warm word of appreciation of what
British arms had done and went back to our carriage.
Two miles or more outside the village we looked down upon the
place of Rachel’s tomb. There have been few more beautiful stories of
devoted service for love than that of Jacob who had “loved Rachel”
and laid her there with a breaking heart. The simple, homely record
of the joys and sorrows of every-day life written in the Book that is so
full of human interest seems very real indeed as one looks into the
faces of men and women about him, almost any one of whom might
have played the part of hero or heroine without change of costume
on a stage with scenery set. A little further down the long hill we
stopped while the guide pointed to the place where the shepherds
had watched their flocks. It was a plain lying close between the
higher hills. Even on a chilly night it would be a sheltered spot and,
huddled dose together with the fire blazing near and the watchman
at the gate of the fold, shepherds and sheep would be safe and warm.
So they lay that night when the dark sky was suddenly flooded with
light and voices sang over the awestruck hills of Judea.
We looked back at the little spot on the hill that was Bethlehem,
where that night was born the baby who turned the world upside
down—the baby who inspired the world’s best art, its finest
literature, its greatest music,—there in that little town with its stone
houses, its irregular streets, its simple people struggling with
poverty! There was Bethlehem, the city of David, the shepherd boy of
the hills, strongest and best of all the sons of Jesse, born to be a king
and through his long line of descendants at last to give to the world
the King of kings.
When we stopped at the desk for our keys and to ask for a fire in
the little square stove in our room the clerk, in hesitating, careful
English, said, “You have found it cold out on the hills. You have seen
Bethlehem. It is a small place, Bethlehem. There is little there that a
man may do. Many travelers are disappointed by Bethlehem.”
“That depends upon how much one sees when he looks at
Bethlehem,” I thought. For me it held no disappointment.
That night in the great hall, around the stove that could not warm
it, men talked of the future of Palestine. A good friend, who
understood many languages and spoke Arabic fluently, interpreted
much of the talk for us. The present population of Palestine, Jews,
Christians and Mohammedans, is not even a million! Jews and
Christians together number perhaps less than one-third. The
Mohammedans make up most of the population and are found in
every city and village. Arabic is the language of the people, but in
Jerusalem and in Jaffa most European languages are freely spoken.
The people who live in the towns are called Madaniyeh, the villagers
are the Fellaheen, and those who live in tents, whom we called
Bedouin, are Arabs. Despite its rocky, unpromising hillsides and its
deserts, Palestine is an agricultural country and that must be its
future, the men told each other. Wheat and barley, maize and lentils,
figs, watermelons, grapes, pomegranates, mulberries, apricots,
tomatoes, oranges, and olives could be easily raised. We heard
glowing descriptions of the Jaffa oranges and some sent later to our
room fulfilled all that had been said of them. There was much talk of
the day when the cultivation of raisins and the manufacture of olive
oil would make men rich; talk of the bananas that could be made to
grow in large quantities at Jericho and of the date palms that would
make Gaza prosper once more. There must be new plows, new
machinery of many sorts. They talked of the Zionist movement, but
the talk was cut short by an Arab who would not hear of it and, as
some faces darkened and voices grew louder, our friend rose and
took us to our room. Sometimes in these days a friendly talk about
Palestine’s future ends in hot words and even blows. The Arab does
not want Palestine to be passed over into the hands of the Jews.
Many of the Jerusalem Jews express no pleasure whatever over an
influx of their brothers from many lands. The problems of Palestine
today are very grave and only great wisdom, unselfishness and
patience will solve them.
After trying in vain to warm ourselves over our small wood stove
we put on our heavy coats and stepped out upon our little balcony.
There was no moon. Save for a light over the Jaffa gate and soft rays
from the windows of our hotel, Jerusalem was dark. The narrow little
street at our left was black. The stars were clear, sparkling, very near.
One star seemed larger and brighter than all the rest. As if
unconscious of my presence my friend sang softly:
“O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth,
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.”

We hurried to our beds with their gay colored hangings and lay
buried under blankets and rugs for warmth. For a long time, gazing
out into the darkness, I could see the star.
O little town of Bethlehem! Small indeed—but spreading over all
the earth. Only a few days before in America millions of children had
heard its story, hugged their precious gifts, and thought of the angels
and the shepherds. Thousands of parents, forgetting the pressure of
dull gray days, filled with problems of food, clothing and shelter had
smiled upon their own children and thought tenderly of the Child,
and many men and women without a child to love remembered the
days of their own childhood and greeted each other with “Merry
Christmas.” Small indeed—but I had heard the children of Japan
with beaming faces sing its story; I had heard the youth of China with
strong, beautifully serious faces tell of white gifts to be given in the
name of the Child who found His way into the world out there on the
hilltop of Judea; in India I had heard the story told by a girl whose
face shone in the telling, as rows and rows of little dark faces looked
up at her. I knew that in the sands of African deserts, in the snows of
Arctic lands, in the farthermost islands of the sea, they had heard of
Bethlehem. A long line of familiar words surged through my mind—
democracy, freedom, liberty, justice for all, the brotherhood of man,
love—as women may say it in Christian lands: ... how many of them
were also born with Him that night in Bethlehem!
No, “thou Bethlehem in the land of Judah art not the least among
the princes of Judah, for out of thee shall come a ruler ... and his
name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting
Father, Prince of Peace.”
The wounded, hungry, puzzled world—the memory of the
sufferings I had looked upon pressed hard upon me. I closed my eyes
to pray that men may have the courage so to love and the faith so to
act that the Prince may soon come into the possession of His
kingdom.
When I opened my eyes, low over the hills against the blackness of
the sky the star was still shining.
I GO DOWN TO JERICHO

“He passed by on the other side.”

That ‘other side’ is trodden smooth

And worn by footsteps passing all the day;
Where lie the bruised ones faint and torn
Is seldom more than an untrodden way.
Our selfish hearts are for our feet the guide,
They lead us by upon the other side.
—Author Unknown.
 I GO DOWN TO JERICHO

A n interested group surrounded us that morning at nine o’clock as

the car which was to take us down to the Dead Sea and the
Jordan drew up to the door of the hotel. I call it a car by courtesy. It
had seen hard service. It had a battered running board, a mudguard
with many dents, a front seat bending in the middle to the breaking
point, no windshield and no horn. We protested, but our guide said it
was the best that could be had.
“It is the engine that is important,” he said, “the engine and the
brake both are good. As for the horn, no fear—he is a horn with his
mouth.” He was a most successful human horn as we found when we
passed through the gate into the traffic outside the wall. Our guide
was not an enthusiast on the subject of motor vehicles. As we swept
around the hairpin curves he was restless. “The Arab is not the
temperament for a driver of cars,” he said seriously, “he is the
temperament for a horse.” And again after a pause, “It is well to go to
Jericho in a carriage. The inn near Elijah’s Spring is a good place for
a rest, and three days—it is a good time for the trip.”
There was little traffic passing after we turned onto the long hill—
donkeys with panniers loaded with products to be exchanged in the
markets of Jerusalem, a boy driving a few sheep slowly up the steep
hill, a lone Arab on his horse. The air was still, crisp, and very clear.
We were exceedingly thankful for the road built by the Turks in
excellent fashion for the visit of the Kaiser twenty-three years before
and carefully repaired by the British troops for military service. We
passed the rest house built that William Hohenzollern might refresh
himself before approaching the Holy City. Lower and lower into the
valley we went. The road now had a thin covering of soft gray mud.
Suddenly, turning to avoid a huge rock that had rolled down the
hillside into the road, the car skidded. A second and the light
machine had crashed into the retaining wall of rock and cement. The
axle bent, the front wheels turned at an angle, we were thrown back
and forth in our shaky seat. The car stopped. We heard the sickening
thud of the rocks as they fell to the dry bed of the stream below. Then
we climbed down carefully over the loosened mass of cement.
“Thank God we are to live!” said the guide reverently. The driver was
trying to turn the wheels back. He pushed the car into the road. The
engine would still run but the axle looked hopeless. The guide spoke
again—“As I have said, a carriage is better for Jericho.” After all our
effort, we had failed to impress him with the fact that for us to give
three days to the trip was impossible. “Of old,” he continued, “they
fell here among the thieves. We have fallen among the rocks.” We
could not help smiling at his look of dismay as he walked around the
car again and again. He was so proud of his record of over thirty
years as guide to whose care was due the fact that no serious mishaps
had ever befallen any of his people. We were so grateful that we were
not lying down there among the jagged rocks in the dry bed of the
stream that our present difficulty seemed slight indeed. We were
midway between Jerusalem and Jericho. If no help came we could
walk in either direction twelve and a half miles though the prospect
was not tempting. While we were discussing it we heard a rumbling,
then a horn. It was a British hospital car taking an officer down to
Jericho. It was pay day for the soldiers and he was late. The driver of
his car felt sure that with a little help the axle might be repaired
enough to enable our driver to crawl back to Jerusalem, but the
steering gear had been damaged and it would be an uncertain
venture. A lorrie was on its way to Jerusalem and was to wait at the
Good Samaritan Inn to give a message to the officer. He would leave
instructions for them to help our driver back to the city and he could
get aid for us. The men in the lorrie which came along according to
schedule looked the car over with the air of expert mechanics. They
spent a half hour or more on it with the help of our driver and then
the little Ford turned and climbed slowly and bravely up the hill,
keeping with greatest difficulty close to the safe side of the road. The
lorrie was out of sight in a few moments flying along to make up for
lost time. It would take word of our trouble and send another car.
 There lay the boat in which one might row across
the Jordan to the land of Moab.

There was nothing to do but wait and nothing to see but bare hills.
We climbed one great rocky mound only to see more hills with
deeper valleys lying between as far as the eye could reach. They
reminded us of the hills in the most desolate part of the Mormon
trail in our own American desert. The sun rose higher and the heat
became almost unbearable. We drew down our hats, put on our dark
glasses and sat on the rocks in the dry bed of the stream. There was
not a sound, not a bird note, no bleating of sheep. There were caves
in the side of the hill. They looked dark, cool, and inviting, they had
sheltered many people good and bad during the long centuries, but
the guide warned us that they were full of vermin and unclean. There
was a tiny boulder half-way up the hill which made on one side a
narrow strip of shade and we made ourselves as small as possible
and sat there.
Noon came and we ate our chicken and hard boiled eggs, French
bread, figs, dates and oranges made ready by the hotel, and drank
the water in our thermos bottles sparingly. A group of Arabs
clattered past us over on the road. One sang a couplet in a clear,
ringing voice and the others joined as in a chorus. They did not see
us, or, if they did, made no sign. “When the Turks ruled Palestine,”
said our guide, “we could not sit here so safe. There was much danger
on this road and no man traveled over it at nightfall.” He told us tales
of brigands in league with Turkish high officials with whom they
shared their spoil that would have made excellent material for
certain types of American motion pictures. Suddenly the simple story
that Jesus told to the crowd in answer to the half-mocking question
of the keen Jewish lawyer came vividly before us. It was in these
hills, in the desperate loneliness of them, that the certain man,
stripped of all his goods, beaten and half dead, lay helpless. He might
wait for help for many an hour before out of this place of emptiness
any would come! How could Priest and Levite pass him by on the
other side and leave him in this forsaken spot that their own journey
might be undisturbed? To them he was only a man robbed by the
bandits. He would die as had many another. It was a common thing,
and, inhuman as it seems, they went on to their task of holy worship
and to the seat of judgment.
How keen was the mind of Christ! How quickly and unerringly He
put his finger upon the very center of sin! It was easy to see, coming
down the narrow camel path in the hills, the hated Samaritan with
the spirit of justice, mercy, and brotherhood in his soul. He stopped
—the man one would least expect to stop—and rescued with
generous tenderness the suffering victim of thieves, while the
servants of Jehovah and his law passed by on the other side, doing in
that day even as, in all the days since, the followers of the letter and
not of the spirit of the law have done.
There was only one answer to the question the lawyer had asked of
Jesus and he was forced to give it—“He that showed mercy.” I doubt
if any who had heard the question, “But who is my neighbor?” ever
forgot the answer, or the command that followed it: “Go and do thou
likewise.”
I was so lost in a new sense of the significance and sincerity of His
wonderful teaching that I did not see our guide make his way toward
the road. “A car comes,” he called, but we, lacking his desert-trained
senses, heard nothing. Two or three minutes and we could see it
coming rapidly along the white road on the farther hillside. The
guide was overjoyed when he saw the new driver. “Ah!” he said, “this
is the man I wanted. He drives anything that can go. Through the
war he drove over hills with no road—always safe! He speaks
English, too.” He examined the car. It had both windshield and horn.
It had an extra tire and seats that were straight. Hope revived.
“We shall now get quickly back to Jerusalem,” said the guide.
“Tomorrow, perhaps, we shall have the carriage.” “To Jerusalem!” we
said. “It is only one o’clock. With such a driver we can surely get to
the Dead Sea and the Jordan. If it is late we can stay tonight at the
Inn near Elijah’s Spring and go back to Jerusalem in the morning.
Our time is short and we cannot take another whole day.” Jamil
looked at the driver. “They are Americans,” he said, “and when they
will go, they will go!” After a moment he added, “The sun has been
very hot. Perhaps for you it has dried the roads.”
So we climbed the steep grade, ran along a level strip, then a
steeper grade to the Inn of the Good Samaritan where Arab traders
and men of the caravans stop for coffee. There was a tank in the yard
where one could buy gasoline!
The road before us was down grade now, and the driver more than
lived up to his reputation. Once Jamil turned to show us a
Mohammedan mosque in ruins in a desolate spot high up in the hills
and again to point out a tomb. “It is the tomb of Moses by the word
of the Mohammedans,” he said; “but we do not believe it, for no man
knoweth where God hath buried him. He never came into the land so
we shall not believe it.”
Neither of us who took it will ever forget that ride through the
Wilderness. There was no road. Two deep ruts here and there
marked our way. We wound through soft ooze turning now into the
rut, now out again. On every side were hillocks of soft gray sand.
“This is a good place to ride the donkey’s back,” said Jamil as we
bounced up and down in the car, but he smiled. We told him we had
motored to Germany over the shell-torn roads fording the bridgeless
streams and this seemed very simple. Three miles of it and we were
on a rough road close by the Dead Sea.
It lay still and calm, a blue gray thing crossed here and there by
ribbons of silver where the sun glistened upon it. I should have said
it had no motion but for the tiny little ripples that broke on the
pebbly beach made frosty with salt deposit. A thousand feet and
more below the Mediterranean it lay there. Sitting beside it we were
lower than any submarine has ever been. The city of Jerusalem is two
thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea so our descent
had been over thirty-five hundred feet since morning. It was very
warm. Though the great body of water lay there now so still, Jamil
told us that when the Turks were using it to transport supplies, fierce
storms swept over it, thunder roared in the hills and over the plains,
and giant waves dashed upon the smooth shore. We looked across
the fourteen miles of sea to the plateau in the hills of Moab and knew
that there was no living thing in it nor on its whole great stretch of
fifty miles! Hungrily it swallows up the rivers and the tiny streams,
the Jordan alone pouring millions of gallons into it every day, but
never, never does it send out even a tiny streamlet. It grants no
answer to the plea of the thirsty land that seems to reach down into it
hopefully. We put our hands into the water four times as heavy as the
Atlantic and they were covered with an oily salty deposit that would
not come off until we had scrubbed with hot water. Suddenly we
heard a sound—the bleating of a sheep. It was so welcome in that
dead silence! Beyond the bend in the shoreline was a tiny house with
children and the sheep!
We walked slowly along over the smooth gaily colored little
pebbles to the spot, half a mile beyond, where the car was waiting.
But we turned to look back again and again. The great silent sea held
for us the awful fascination of death.
There was a road of a sort across the plain to the Jordan. When the
river is in flood this plain is covered inches deep with ooze, rank
vegetable growths spring up, the brown bushes are green, clouds of
mosquitoes, scorpions, vipers and all manner of crawling things
make their home here for a season; but now there were only long
cracks that crossed and recrossed in the dried mud. Twice our wheels
spun round in pockets of soft gray clay, but small thick boards, a
spade and dry sand helped us out. A turn and we could see the river!
To one who has never studied the geography of Palestine or to
whom books of travel are strangers, that first sight of the Jordan
must bring far greater disappointment than to one in a way prepared
for the dark, muddy stream whose swift current hurries on
ceaselessly, gathering silt as it goes. Within its normal banks it is
such a narrow stream! We stopped for a moment in the house where
sweet Turkish coffee and oranges were served us and where the boats
used by fishermen and by tourists who like to row across to touch the
land of Moab lay moored to a tiny wharf. The banks were steep here
and soft willows bent over them. We sat down in the little boat that
swung lazily at its moorings. It seemed the strangest and the most
wonderful of rivers, this little muddy stream! Over it the great hosts
of Israel passed; along its banks John, coming out of the desert,
preached the kingdom of heaven to the multitude; and here came
even Jesus Himself to be baptized in the waters His presence made
sacred. We dipped our bottles carefully into the stream and filled
them with water as all pilgrims do. We listened to the stories of the
feast days when pilgrims come down to the river to worship there; we
read the story of Naaman and understood why the proud leper of the
king’s court, even at the command of the stern prophet, hesitated to
bathe in its waters. We lived in another day. Proud armies marched
over the plain toward Jericho and we could almost hear Joshua’s
ringing commands. We were brought back to our own day suddenly
by the sound of a voice, a very American voice, singing in the
distance, “Roll, Jordan, Roll.” We looked at each other in
amazement. After a moment’s silence the voice rang out again,
nearer now:
“Some day I’m going to murder the bugler!
Some day you’re going to find him dead!
I’ll amputate his reveille
And stamp upon it heavily,
And spend the rest of my life in bed.”

We climbed out of the boat and up the bank. A man in the early
thirties stood there with a sapling, root and all, in his hand. He was
an American working with the British under a commission for
reforestation. He was most enthusiastic over his work and painted
for us a wonderful picture of the hills, now bare and desolate, and the
banks of the river, with the low scrubby growth, transformed some
future day into valuable fruit and olive orchards, irrigated pastures,
great stretches of light timberland. Jamil shook his head. “There is
much talk these days about the changes that are coming to this land,
but we shall see—we shall see and then we shall believe,” he said. Our
friend went into the little house for food and rest and we stood in
silence watching the stream which artists for centuries have painted,
the river which has always stood for separation, under whose spell
poets have written their sad hymns—watched it rushing on pouring
more and more water into the Sea that is Dead.
The dunes, yellow and gray, between which we rode on to Jericho
were round as though a giant hand had played with them, smoothed
them over, and left them there. Twice we passed low stone houses
with cisterns of water cut in deep rock hidden below the surface, and
there were oranges and green things in the garden in the midst of the
desert. It was cooler and the air was soft and balmy. The walls of
Jericho—City of Palms—though now there are none, had indeed
fallen, but there was no fear upon the faces of the people. The once
mighty city is now but an ordinary village of lower class Arabs, with a
supply station, a few shops, and the hotel where British officers live.
Traces of recent battle over the very ground where the men of Joshua
had routed the ancient enemy were all about us. The story of the
taking of Jericho from the Turks by British troops when the river at
its flood had to be bridged by boats and the temperature ran to 120°
and more, is as thrilling, as fascinating, and as triumphant as that of
Joshua himself.
Passing through the center of the town, we came to the orange
groves. The air was fragrant with the perfume of thousands of
jonquils growing wild along the edges of the irrigated section. The
children offered two huge bunches for sale and we rejoiced in them.
Our driver took twenty bunches for a friend to sell in Jerusalem. He
tucked them away neatly in the folded top of the car. We bought
delicious oranges and our machine became a chariot of delight. We
went out to Elijah’s Spring, whose waters, made sweet and
wholesome by the prophet, were responsible for the luxuriant
flowers and delicious fruit, past the home of Rahab who had saved
the spies in Joshua’s day, stopping for a moment at the spot where
the sycamore tree had sheltered the rich publican Zacchæus when he
determined to see Jesus. It was easy to imagine the consternation
that filled the city when it became known that Jesus had commanded
him to come down because He would be a guest in his house that day
—the house of a publican. It was on this road, too, that Bartimæus
met Jesus and, despite the demand of the multitude that he be quiet,
continued to cry aloud until the Healer saw him, opened his eyes and
set his soul on fire with gratitude. How close the multitude must
have pressed in those narrow streets, as driven by curiosity and
longing for help, they followed Him! How often the body and soul of
the Master must have cried out for the shelter of the mountain, the
stillness of that waiting desert where in the night God could come
very near with a new message and new strength for the coming day!
It was at times like these, when half carelessly they pointed out to us
the spots where on common days Jesus passed by, changing forever
the lives that He touched, that we loved Him.
 The sun was creeping on toward the horizon. We must turn back
toward Jerusalem. Every foot of the road the driver assured us he
knew. He would leave us in the Inn with the guide if we wished and
send for us early in the morning, but he would get back to Jerusalem.
So would we and he was content. He got all possible speed out of the
car. It must climb back over those thirty-five hundred feet we had
come down such a short time since.
We stopped a moment to peer at the lonely monastery where
monks still live on the Mount of Temptation and pray daily for all
who are tempted. The road which had been so lonely in the morning
was stirring with life. Groups of Arabs on horses and little swift-
footed donkeys moved aside to let us pass. Twice at a signal from a
man riding ahead on horseback we stopped to let a great caravan
pass us. The leading camels wore gorgeous trappings and tinkling
bells. Once a camel without cargo, following in dignified fashion
behind two others, stood perfectly still, trembled, then turned and
ran ahead of us. We were amazed to see how swiftly he ran. In vain
the rider of the other camel shouted and called. Had it not been for a
friendly companion, who, coming down the hill, drove his own camel
straight across the path, spoke soothingly to the great beast while a
man on a donkey grasped his chain, he might have led us a chase all
the way to Jerusalem. They did not attempt to take their prisoner
past us in the road but turned off into a deep defile. When we looked
back from the hilltop they were again on the road moving on toward
Jericho. But most of the camels bearing their burdens merely sniffed
and passed us by in scorn.
It grew very cold as we reached the heights and the discarded
robes and coats were welcome. We could see shepherds and sheep
seeking places of shelter. Sometimes we caught glimpses of herds of
goats reluctantly following or plunging ahead silhouetted against a
soft violet sky. The sun set calmly and we missed the blazing glory.
Suddenly it was night. We were glad to be well past the scene of our
morning’s mishap and nearing Jerusalem. When we stopped at the
door of the hotel, Jamil gave a sigh of relief. “We have had a
wonderful day,” we said. “We have had a day of miracles,” was his
answer in a solemn, devout tone. Both he and the driver were most
happy a moment later when they received their extra fee.
 Dinner was over for most of the guests, but we were given a warm
corner and more food than it would be possible to eat in many meals.
We found that the entire hotel had joined in Jamil’s sigh of relief
when we returned. There was a snapping wood fire in the little stove
and hot water bottles that made the great curtained beds seem more
inviting. The maid wished us “sleep without dreaming.”
But for a long time, lying there in the darkness, I dreamed with my
eyes wide open. Dreamed of the forty years wandering in the
wilderness while one generation passed and a new one was born.
Dreamed of the kings and the prophets, of David hunted like a wild
thing through the desolate hills and caves, of captives marching
across the sands to Babylon. Dreamed of the Man who, with weary
feet, in the heat and the dust walked about the Jordan Valley,
through Jericho, walked up the long, long hills even to Jerusalem
with men and women following, always seeking, only a few sharing.
Dreamed of the demand that He made upon all who did have the
courage to share—that they love God—and the challenge that they
love their fellow men as He loved them, ... dreamed of the day when
the challenge would be answered and the other man’s welfare would
become each man’s passion.
 I GO TO BETHANY

I tell you when I looked upon these fields,

And stony valleys,—through the purple veil
Of twilight, or what time the Orient sun
Made shining jewels of the barren rocks,—
Something within me trembled; for I said:
This picture once was mirrored in His eyes;
This sky, that lake, those hills, this loveliness,
To Him familiar were; this is the way
To Bethany.
—Richard Watson Gilder.
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