CHAPTER IX.
Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with rapture wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child,
But a fair maiden, in her Father's Mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace,
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.
—[Henry W. Longfellow
The next day, my brother being away upon an important mission, I started out alone to see if I might not find the dear young friends of whom I had caught a fleeting glimpse the day before. I knew that all things were ordered aright in that happy world, and that sooner or later I should find them again; yet I could but hope it might be very soon. I recalled the happy light upon their fresh young faces as they had met the beloved Master, and I longed to talk with them of their life from day to day. From thinking of them, I began again to think of my blessed interview with Him, and became so absorbed in these thoughts that I was even oblivious to the beautiful world around me. Suddenly I heard some one say:
"Surely that is Mrs. Sprague!" and looking up, I saw sweet Mary Bates a few steps away, regarding me intently. I cried joyfully:
"My precious Mamie!"
She flew to me, and folding me in her arms, drew my head to her shoulder in the old caressing way, almost sobbing in her great joy.
"Dear, dear little muzzer!"—a pet name often used by her in the happy past—"how glad, how glad I am to have you here! I could scarcely wait to find you."
"How did you know I was here, Mamie?"
"The Master told me," she said softly. "Mae had already told me, and we were on the way to find you when we met him, and he told us he had just left you. Then we knew we must wait a little," she said reverently.
How my heart thrilled! He had thought about, had spoken of me, after we parted! I longed to ask her what he had said, but dared not. Seeming to divine my thoughts, she continued:
"He spoke so tenderly about you, and said we must be with you much. Mae had work to do to-day, and as she had already seen you once, I came alone. She may be here later on. May I stay a long time with you? There is so much to tell you, so much to ask about!"
"Indeed you may. I had started out to find you, when we met. Come, dear child, let us return home at once."
So, clinging to each other, we set out toward my home.
"What shall I tell you first?" I asked.
"Everything about the dear ones—every individual member of our beloved household. Begin with my precious, heart-broken mother;" here her voice broke a little, but she soon continued, "I am with her often, but her great, and I fear unreconciled, sorrow, keeps me from being the comfort to her I long to be. If only she could spend one hour with me here, could know God's wisdom and love as we know it, how the cloud would lift from her life! How she would see that the two lives, after all, are but one."
"Yes, dear," I answered, "I always urged her to think of it in that light and to trust implicitly in the Father's tender care and never-failing love; but it is difficult for us to see beyond the lonely hearthstone and the vacant chair. Still, I believe she does begin to dimly grasp the comfort you are so eager to impart."
"Ah, if only she knew that I need just that to complete my happiness now! We cannot sorrow here as we did on earth, because we have learned to know that the Will of the Father is always tender and wise; but even heaven can never be complete for me while I know that my precious mother is forgetful of her many rare blessings, simply because I may not be with her, in the flesh, to share them. There is my father, and the boys—why, I am as truly hers still as they are! I often sit with them all, with her hand in mine, or my arms about her—my dear little mother! Why must she see me, to recognize this? But this is almost complaining, is it not? Some day she will know all—we must be patient."
As we walked on slowly, conversing of the earth-life, still in many phases so dear to us, she asking eager questions, I answering as best I could, we saw a group of four persons, three women and a man, standing under the trees a little to one side of the walk. The man's back was towards us, but we at once recognized the Master. The women were all strangers, and one of them seemed to have just arrived. Her hand the Savior held, as he talked with her, while all were intently listening to his words. We regarded the group in silence as we slowly passed, not hoping for recognition from him at such a time, but just as we were opposite to them, "he turned and looked upon" us. He did not speak—but oh, that look! So full of tenderness and encouragement and benediction! It lifted us, it bore us upward, it enthralled and exalted us; and as we passed onward, the clasp of our hands tightened, and rapture unspeakable flooded our hearts.
We finished our walk in silence, and sat down on the marble steps in the shadow of the overhanging trees. The dear child nestled close against my side, and laid her head upon my shoulder, while I rested my cheek caressingly upon it. After a time I whispered, half to myself, "Was there ever such a look!"
Instantly she raised her head and looking at me, said eagerly: "You think so, too? I was sure you would. It is always just so. If he is too much engaged to speak to you at the time, he just looks at you, and it is as though he had talked a long while with you. Is he not wonderful! Why, why could we not know him on earth as we know him here?"
"How long were you here before you met him?" I asked.
"Oh, that is the wonderful part of it! His was the first face I looked upon after I left the body. I felt bewildered when I first realized that I was free, and I stood for a moment irresolute. Then I saw him standing just beside me, with that same look upon his face. At first I felt timid and half afraid. Then he stretched forth his hand to me, and said gently, 'My child, I have come to take care of you; trust me; do not be afraid.' Then I knew him, and instantly all fear left me, and I clung to him as I would have done to either of my brothers. He did not say much to me, but somehow I felt that he understood all of my thoughts. After a moment, I asked:
"'May I not remain awhile with mamma? She is heart-broken.'
"'Yes, dear child, as long as you desire,' he answered compassionately.
"'Will you also remain?' I asked, for I already felt I could not bear to have him leave me.
"He looked much pleased, as though he divined my thought, as he answered: 'Yes, I will never leave you, till you are ready to accompany me.'
"Then I went to mamma and put my arms about her, and presently the Master, too, came and whispered words of comfort to her; but I am not sure she recognized our presence, though I fancied that she grew more calm beneath my caresses. We stayed till all was over. I never left mamma an instant, except that twice I stole to poor little Hal's sick-room when he was for a short time alone. I have always felt that he recognized my presence more than any of them, he lay so still and calm when I talked to him. He seemed to be listening. When they gathered for the last time about my casket, it seemed to me I must speak, I must show myself to them! Could they for one instant have seen my living self, standing so calmly in their midst, they would have turned forever from the lifeless clay they had embalmed and beautified for the tomb. They would have known I was not there. But they would not recognize the truth. At last I pleaded with the Master to let me show myself once to them, there. But he said, 'It is not the Father's will.'
"After that I accepted fully the Father's will, and soon thereafter he brought me here in his arms. And what a blessed life it is!"
I can give only a brief outline of our conversation on that first happy day. It is too sacred to be scanned by curious eyes. We talked until the golden twilight fell, and we watched the little birds nestling in the vines, and heard afar the solemnly joyous notes of the angels' choral song, and joined our voices in the hymn of praise. Later we went to my room, and lay down upon my dainty couch for rest, and the last words I heard before sinking into heaven's blissful sleep were, tenderly whispered: "Dear, dear little muzzer, I am so glad and happy that you are here!"
More than once the question has been asked, "Was there night there?" Emphatically, no! What, for want of a better designation, we may call "day," was full of a glorious radiance, a roseate golden light, which was everywhere. There is no language known to mortals that can describe this marvelous glory. It flooded the sky; it was caught up and reflected in the waters; it filled all heaven with joy and all hearts with song. After a period much longer than our longest earthly day, this glory mellowed and softened until it became a glowing twilight full of peace. The children ceased their playing beneath the trees, the little birds nestled among the vines, and all who had been busy in various ways throughout the day sought rest and quiet. But there was no darkness, no dusky shadows even—-only a restful softening of the glory.
CHAPTER X.
O sweet and blessed country,
The home of God's elect!
O sweet and blessed country
That eager hearts expect!
There stand those halls of Zion
All jubilant with song,
And bright with many an angel,
And all the martyr throng.
—[St. Bernard of Cluny.
Not long after this my brother said, "We will go to the grand auditorium this morning; it will be a rare day even here. Martin Luther is to talk on 'The Reformation; Its Causes and Effects,' and this will be supplemented by a talk from John Wesley. There may also be other speakers."
It was not the first time we had visited this great auditorium, although I have not hitherto described it. It stood upon a slight eminence, and the mighty dome was supported by massive columns of alternate amethyst and jasper. There were no walls to the vast edifice; only the great dome and supporting columns. A broad platform of precious marbles, inlaid in porphyry, arose from the center, from which the seats ascended on three sides, forming an immense amphitheater. The seats were of cedar wood highly polished; and back of the platform were heavy hangings of royal purple. An altar of solid pearl stood near the center of the platform. The great dome was deep and dark in its immensity, so that only the golden statues around its lower border were distinctly visible. All this I had noted at former visits.
When we entered, we found the building filled with people eagerly waiting for what was to follow. We soon were seated and also waiting. Soft strains of melody floated about us, from an invisible choir, and before long Martin Luther, in the prime of a vigorous manhood, ascended the steps and stood before us. It is not my purpose to dwell upon his appearance, so familiar to us all, except to say that his great intellect and spiritual strength seemed to have added to his already powerful physique, and made him a fit leader still, even in heavenly places.
His discourse would of itself fill a volume, and could not be given even in outline, in this brief sketch. He held us enthralled by the power of his will and his eloquence. When he at length retired, John Wesley took his place, and the saintly beauty of his face, intensified by the heavenly light upon it, was wonderful. His theme was "God's love;" and if in the earth-life he dwelt upon it with power, he now swept our souls with the fire of his exaltation, until we were as wax in his hands. He showed what that love had done for us, and how an eternity of thanksgiving and praise could never repay it.
Silence, save for the faint, sweet melody of the unseen choir, rested upon the vast audience for some time after he left. All seemed lost in contemplation of the theme so tenderly dwelt upon. Then the heavy curtains back of the platform parted, and a tall form, about whom all the glory of heaven seemed to center, emerged from their folds and advanced toward the middle of the platform. Instantly the vast concourse of souls arose to their feet, and burst forth as with one voice into that grand anthem in which we had so often joined on earth:
"All hail the power of Jesus' name,
Let angels prostrate fall;
Bring forth the royal diadem,
And crown him Lord of all."
Such a grand chorus of voices, such unity, such harmony, such volume, was never heard on earth. It rose, it swelled, it seemed to fill not only the great auditorium, but heaven itself. And still, above it all, we heard the voices of the angel choir, no longer breathing the soft, sweet melody, but bursting forth into pæans of triumphant praise. A flood of glory seemed to fill the place, and looking upward we beheld the great dome ablaze with golden light, and the angelic forms of the no longer invisible choir in its midst, with their heavenly harps and viols, and their faces only less radiant than that of Him in whose praise they sang. And he, before whom all heaven bowed in adoration, stood with uplifted face and kingly mien, the very God of earth and heaven. He was the center of all light, and a divine radiance surrounded him that was beyond compare.
As the hymn of praise and adoration ceased, all sank slowly to their knees, and every head was bowed and every face covered as the angel choir chanted again the familiar words:
"Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen, Amen!"
Slowly the voices died away, and a holy silence fell upon us. Presently, slowly and reverently, all arose and resumed their places. No, not all. Sweet Mary Bates had accompanied us to the sanctuary, and I now noticed that she alone still knelt in our midst, with clasped hands and radiant uplifted face, her lovely eyes fixed upon the Savior, as he still stood waiting before us, with such a look of self-forgetful adoration and love as made her herself truly divine. She was so rapt I dared not disturb her; but in a moment the Master turned and met her adoring eyes with such a look of loving recognition, that with a deep sigh of satisfied desire, as he turned again, she quietly resumed her seat beside me, slipping her little hand into mine with all the confidence of a child who feels sure it is understood to the utmost.
As I looked upon the glorious form before us, clothed in all the majesty of the Godhead, my heart tremblingly asked: "Can this indeed be the Christ-man whom Pilate condemned to die an ignominious death upon the cross?" I could not accept it. It seemed impossible that any man, however vile, could be blind to the divinity so plainly revealed in him.
Then the Savior began to speak, and the sweetness of his voice was far beyond the melody of the heavenly choir. And his gracious words! Would that I could, would that I dared, transcribe them as they fell from his lips. Earth has no language by which I could convey their lofty meaning. He first touched lightly upon the earth-life, and showed so wonderfully the link of light uniting the two lives—the past with the present. Then he unfolded to us some of the earlier mysteries of the blessed life, and pointed out the joyous duties just before us.
When he ceased, we sat with bowed heads as he withdrew. Our hearts were so enfolded, our souls so uplifted, our spirits so exalted, our whole being so permeated with his divinity, that when we arose we left the place silently and reverently, each bearing away a heart filled with higher, more divine aspirations, and clearer views of the blessed life upon which we were permitted to enter.
I can touch but lightly upon these heavenly joys. There is a depth, a mystery to all that pertains to the divine life, which I dare not try to describe; I could not if I would, I would not if I could. A sacredness enfolds it all that curious eyes should not look upon. Suffice it to say, that no joy we know on earth, however rare, however sacred, can be more than the faintest shadow of the joy we there find; no dreams of rapture, here unrealized, approach the bliss of one moment, even, in that divine world. No sorrow; no pain; no sickness; no death; no partings; no disappointments; no tears but those of joy; no broken hopes; no mislaid plans; no night, nor storm, nor shadows even; but light and joy and love and peace and rest forever and forever. "Amen," and again my heart says reverently, "Amen."
CHAPTER XI
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Thy streets of pearl and gold
Are trod by the blest feet of them
We knew and loved of old.
Their voices full of calm delight
Steal through the radiant air—
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Our hearts are with them there!
As the days passed I found my desires often led me to the sacred lake, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or more of my own family circle—my revered father and precious mother, my dear brother and sister, and many beloved friends both within and without the bond of consanguinity. It was always to me an inspiration and an uplifting. I never could grow sufficiently familiar with it to overcome the first great awe with which it inspired me; but I found that the oftener I bathed or floated and slept in its pellucid current, the stronger I grew in spirit, and the more clearly I comprehended the mysteries of the world about me. My almost daily intercourse with the dear ones of our home life from whom I had so long been separated, served to restore to me the home feeling that had been the greatest solace of my mortal life; and I began to realize that this was indeed the true life, instead of that probationary life which we had always regarded as such. I think it was the day after my return from my first visit to earth, that, as I had started to cross the sward lying between my father's house and our own, I heard my name called in affectionate tones. I turned and saw approaching me a tall, fine-looking man, whose uncovered head was silvery white, and whose deep blue eyes looked happily and tenderly into mine, as he drew near.
"Oliver!" I cried with outstretched hands of welcome, "dear, dear Oliver!" It was the husband of my eldest sister, always dearly loved.
"I did not know that you had come, until a few moments since, when our father told me. It is delightful to have you here; it seems more like the old life to see you than any of the others who are here—we were together so much during the last years of my stay," he said, grasping my hands warmly. "Where are you going now? Can you not come with me awhile? I was thinking only a few days ago how much I wished you could be here a little while before Lu came; you know her tastes so well. And now here you are! So often our unspoken wishes are thus gratified in heaven!"
"Is my sister coming soon?" I asked a little later.
"That I cannot confidently say; but you know the years of the earth-life are passing, and her coming cannot be much longer delayed. Can you come with me now?"
"Gladly," I said, turning to walk with him.
"It is only a little way from here," he said. "Just where the river bends. Lu loves the water so, I chose that spot in preference to one even nearer your home."
"This is truly enchanting!" I cried, as we drew near the place. "I have not been this way before."
"I want you to see the river from her room windows," he said; "I know you will enjoy it."
We entered the truly beautiful house, built of the purest white granite, so embedded in the foliage of the flower-laden trees that from some points only glimpses of its fine proportions could be seen.
"She loves flowers so much—will she not enjoy these trees?" he asked with almost boyish delight.
"Beyond everything," I answered.
We passed through several delightful rooms on the lower floor, and, ascending the stairway, which in itself was a dream of beauty, entered the room he was so anxious I should see. I stopped upon the threshold with an exclamation of delight, while he stood watching with keen enjoyment the expression on my face.
"It is the most delightful room I ever saw!" I cried enthusiastically.
The framework of couches, chairs and desk was of pure and spotless pearl, upholstered in dim gold; soft rugs and draperies everywhere; and through the low window, opening upon the flower-wreathed balcony, so enchanting a view of the broad, smooth river below, that again I caught my breath in delight. A thousand exquisite tints from the heavens above were reflected upon the tranquil waters, and a boat floating on the current was perfectly mirrored in the opaline-tinted ripples. Far across the shining waters the celestial hills arose, with domes and pillared temples and sparkling fountains perceptible everywhere. When at last I turned from this entrancing view, I saw on the opposite wall, smiling down upon me, the same Divine face that I daily looked upon in my own room at home.
We descended the stairs without a word, then I could only falter:
"Only heaven could give such perfection in everything!"
Oliver pressed my hand sympathetically, and let me depart without a word.
Many months, by earthly time, had passed since that day, and many times I had visited that lovely home and held sweet converse with one I loved so well. I could suggest nothing that would add to the beauty of the place, but we talked of it together, and planned for and anticipated the joy of her coming.
One day I found him absent, and though I waited long for his return, he came not. I had not seen him for several days, and concluded he had been sent upon some mission by the Master. As I passed onward to our home, I met a group of happy young girls and boys, of different ages, hastening the way I had come, with their arms full of most beautiful flowers. As they drew near I saw they were the grandchildren of my dear sister—Stanley and Mary and David and Lee and little Ruth. As soon as they saw me, they all with one accord began to shout joyfully:
"Grandma is coming! Grandma is coming! We are taking flowers to scatter everywhere! We are so glad!"
"How do you know she is coming, children? I have just been to the house—no one is there!"
"But she is coming," said little Lee. "We had a message from grandpa, and he is to bring her."
"Then I will tell the others, and we will all come to welcome her," I said.
With a great joy in my heart I hastened onward to my father's house. I found them awaiting me, full of joyful expectation.
"Yes, we also have had word," my father said, "and were only awaiting your return, that we might go together."
"Then I will go for brother Frank, that he also may accompany us," I said.
"He is here!" said a genial voice; and, looking up, I saw him at the door.
"Col. Sprague is always present when he is needed," said my father cordially.
So we set forth, a goodly company, to welcome this dearly loved one to her home—my father, my mother, and my sister Jodie; my brother the doctor, and his two fair daughters; my Aunt Gray, her son Martin, and his wife and daughter; my brother Frank and I.
As we approached the house we heard the sound of joyous voices, and looking in, we saw my sister standing in the room, her husband's arm about her, and the happy grandchildren thronged around them, like humming-birds among the flowers. But what was this? Could this radiant creature, with smooth brow and happy eyes, be the pale, wan woman I had last seen, so bowed with suffering and sorrow? I looked with eager eyes. Yes, it was my sister; but as she was full thirty years ago, with the bloom of health upon her face, and the light of youth in her tender eyes. I drew back into the shadow of the vines and let the others precede me, for my heart was full of a strange, triumphant joy. This truly was the "victory over death" so surely promised by our risen Lord. I watched the happy greetings, and the way she took each beloved one into her tender arms. When, one by one, she had greeted and embraced them all, I saw her, with a strange yearning at my heart, turn and look wistfully around, then whisper to my father:
"Is not my little sister here?"
I could wait no longer, but, hastening to her side, cried:
"Dearest, I am here! Welcome! Welcome!"
She folded me to her heart and held me fast in her warm arms, she showered me with kisses upon my upturned face, while I returned each loving caress, and laughed and cried for very gladness that she had come at last. Oh, what a family reunion was that inside the walls of heaven! And how its bliss was heightened by the sure knowledge (not the hope) that there should be no partings for us henceforth forever!
My brother Oliver looked on with proud and happy eyes. The hour for which he had longed and waited had come to him at last; his home-life would now be complete for evermore. I told him how I had waited for him that day, and he said, "We saw you as you left the house, but were too distant to call you. I had taken her into the river, and she had looked at and admired the house very greatly before she knew it was our home."
"What did she do when she saw her lovely room?"
"Cried like a child, and clung to me, and said, 'This more than repays us for the lost home of earth!' If the children had not come, I think she would have been at that window still!" he said, laughing happily.
"I am glad you had her all to yourself at the first," I whispered; "you deserved that happiness, dear, if any man ever did."
He smiled gratefully, and looked over at his wife, where she stood the center of a happy group.
"Does she not look very young to you, Oliver?" I asked.
"The years rolled from her like a mask, as we sat beneath the water in the river. Ah, truly in those life-giving waters we do all 'renew our youth'; but she became at once uncommonly fair and young."
"Her coming has brought youth likewise to you," I said, noting his fresh complexion and his sparkling eyes; "but I hope it will not change your silver hair, for that is to you a crown of glory."
He looked at me a moment critically, then said:
"I wonder if you realize the change that has likewise come to you in this wonderful clime?"
"I?" I said, a little startled at the thought; "I confess I have not once thought of my personal appearance. I realize what, through the Father's mercy, this life has done for me spiritually, but as for the other, I have never given it an instant's thought."
"The change is fully as great in your case as in Lu's, though with you the change has been more gradual," he said.
I felt a strange thrill of joy that when my dear husband should come to me, he would find me with the freshness and comeliness of our earlier years. It was a sweet thought, and my heart was full of gratitude to the Father for this further evidence of his loving care. So we talked together as the hours sped, until my father said:
"Come, children; we must not forget that this dear daughter of mine needs rest this first day in her new home. Let us leave her and her happy husband to their new-found bliss."
So with light hearts we went our way, and left them to spend their first hours in heaven together.
CHAPTER XII.
Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee,
Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
Cherubim and Seraphim falling down before Thee,
Which wert, and art, and evermore shalt be.
—[Bishop Heber.
After we had left my parents and friends on our return from our welcome to my sister, my brother hastened away upon some mission, and I walked on alone toward the sacred lake. I felt the need of a rest in its soothing waters after the exciting scenes through which I had passed. I had hitherto visited the lake in the early morning hours; it was now something past noontide of the heavenly day, and but few persons lingered on the shore. The boats that sped across its calm surface seemed to be filled rather with those intent upon some duty than simply pleasure-seekers. I walked slowly down into the water, and soon found myself floating, as at former times, in mid-current. The wonderful prismatic rays that in the early morning were such a marvel, now blended into a golden glory, with different shades of rose and purple flashing athwart their splendor. To me it seemed even more beautiful than the rainbow tints; just as the maturer joys of our earthly life cast into shadow, somewhat, the more evanescent pleasures of youth. I could but wonder what its evening glories would be, and resolved to come at some glowing twilight, and see if they would not remind me of the calm hours of life's closing day. I heard the chimes from the silver bell of the great city ringing an anthem as I lay, and its notes seemed to chant clearly:
"Holy! Holy! Holy! Lord God Almighty!" The waters took up the song and a thousand waves about me responded, "Holy! Holy! Holy!"
The notes seemed to "vibrate," if I may use the expression, upon the waves, producing a wondrously harmonious effect. The front row in the battalion of advancing waves softly chanted "Holy" as they passed onward; immediately the second roll of waves took up the word that the first seemed to have dropped as it echoed the second "Holy" in the divine chorus, then it, too, passed onward to take up the second note as the third advancing column caught the first; and so it passed and echoed from wave to wave, until it seemed millions of tiny waves about me had taken up and were bearing their part in this grand crescendo—this wonderful anthem. Language fails me—I cannot hope to convey to others this experience as it came to me. It was grand, wonderful, overpowering. I lay and listened until my whole being was filled with the divine melody, and I seemed to be a part of the great chorus, then I, too, lifted up my voice and joined with full heart in the thrilling song of praise.
I found that, contrary to my usual custom, I floated rapidly away from the shore whence I had entered the water, and after a time was conscious that I was approaching a portion of the lake shore I had never yet visited. Refreshed and invigorated, I ascended the sloping banks, to find myself in the midst of a lovely suburban village, similar to the one where our own home was situated. There was some difference in the architecture or construction of the houses, though they were no less beautiful than others I had seen. Many were constructed of polished woods, and somewhat resembled the finest of the chalets one sees in Switzerland, though far surpassing them in all that gives pleasure to the artistic eye.
As I wandered on, feasting my eyes upon the lovely views about me, I was particularly pleased by the appearance of an unusually attractive house. Its broad verandas almost overhung the waters of the lake, the wide low steps running on one side of the house quite to the water's edge. Several graceful swans were leisurely drifting about with the current, and a bird similar to our Southern mocking-bird, but with softer voice, was singing and swinging in the low branches overhead. There were many larger and more imposing villas near, but none possessed for me the charm of this sweet home.
Beneath one of the large flowering trees close by this cottage home, I saw a woman sitting, weaving with her delicate hands, apparently without shuttle or needle, a snow-white gossamer-like fabric that fell in a soft fleecy heap at her side as the work progressed. She was so very small in stature that at first glance I supposed she was a child; but a closer scrutiny showed her to be a mature woman, though with the glow of youth still upon her smooth cheek. Something familiar in her gestures, rather than her appearance, caused me to feel that it was not the first time we had met; and growing accustomed now to the delightful surprises that met me everywhere in this world of rare delights, I drew near to accost her, when, before I could speak, she looked up, and the doubt was gone.
"Maggie!" "Mrs. Sprague dear!" we cried simultaneously, as, dropping her work from her hands, she stepped quickly up to greet me.
Our greeting was warm and fervent, and her sweet face glowed with a welcome that reminded me of the happy days when we had met, in the years long gone, by the shore of that other beautiful lake in the world of our earth-life.
"Now I know why I came this way to-day—to find you, dear," I said, as we sat side by side, talking as we never had talked on earth; for the sweet shyness of her mortal life had melted away in the balmy air of heaven.
"What is this lovely fabric you are weaving?" I presently asked, lifting the silken fleecy web in my fingers as I spoke.
"Some draperies for Nellie's room," she said. "You know we two have lived alone together so much, I thought it would seem more like home to her, to us both, if we did the same here. So this cottage is our own special home, just a step from Marie's," pointing to an imposing house a few yards distant, "and I am fitting it up as daintily as I can, especially her room."
"Oh, let me help you, Maggie dear!" I said. "It would be such a pleasure to me."
She hesitated an instant, with something of the old-time shyness, then said:
"That is so like you, dear Mrs. Sprague. I have set my heart on doing Nellie's room entirely myself—there is no hurry about it, you know—but if you really would enjoy it, I shall love to have you help me in the other rooms."
"And will you teach me how to weave these delicate hangings?"
"Yes, indeed. Shall I give you your first lesson now?"
Lifting the dainty thread, she showed me how to toss and wind it through my fingers till it fell away in shining folds. It was very light and fascinating work, and I soon was weaving it almost as rapidly as she did.
"Now, I can help Carroll!" was my happy thought, as I saw the shimmering fabric grow beneath my hands. "To-morrow I will go and show him how beautifully we can drape the doors and windows."
So in heaven our first thought ever is to give pleasure to others.
"You are an apt scholar," said Maggie, laughing happily; "and what a charming hour you have given me!"
"What a charming hour you have given me, my dear!" I answered.
When we parted it was with the understanding that every little while I was to repeat the visit. When I urged her likewise to come to me, the old-time shyness again appeared, as she said:
"Oh, they are all strangers to me, and here we shall be entirely alone. You come to me."
So I yielded, as in heaven we never seek to gain reluctant consent for any pleasure, however dear; and many were the happy hours spent with her in the cottage by the lake.
CHAPTER XIII.
"I take these little lambs," said He
And lay them in my breast;
Protection they shall find in Me,
In Me be ever blest."
—[Samuel Stennett.
On one of my walks about this time, I chanced upon a scene that brought to mind what Mae had said to me about the Savior's love for little children. I found him sitting beneath one of the flowering trees upon the lake shore, with about a dozen children of all ages clustered around him. One dainty little tot, not more than a year old, was nestled in his arms, with her sunny head resting confidingly upon his bosom, her tiny hands filled with the lovely water-lilies that floated everywhere on the waters. She was too young to realize how great her privilege was, but seemed to be enjoying his care to the utmost. The others sat at his feet, or leaned upon his knees; and one dear little fellow, with earnest eyes, stood by him, leaning upon his shoulder, while the Master's right arm encircled him. Every eye was fixed eagerly upon Jesus, and each child appeared alert to catch every word he said. He seemed to be telling them some very absorbing story, adapted to their childish tastes and capacities. I sat down upon the sward among a group of people, a little removed from the children, and tried to hear what he was saying, but we were too far away to catch more than a sentence now and then, and in heaven one never intrudes upon another's privileges or pleasures. So we simply enjoyed the smiles and eager questions and exclamations of the children, and gathered a little of the tenor of the story from the disjointed sentences which floated to us.
"A little child lost in the dark woods of the lower world—" we heard the Master say, in response to the inquiring looks of the interested children.
"Lions and bears—" came later on.
"Where was his papa?" asked an anxious voice.
We could not hear the reply, but soon a little fellow leaning upon the Savior's knee, said confidently: "No lions and bears up here!"
"No," he replied, "nothing to harm or frighten my little children here!"
Then as the story deepened and grew in interest, and the children pressed more closely about the Master, he turned with a sweet smile—and we could see an increased pressure of the encircling arm—to the little fellow with the earnest eyes who leaned upon his shoulder, and said:
"What, Leslie, would you have done, then?"
With a bright light in his eyes and a flush on his fair cheek, the child answered quickly and emphatically:
"I should have prayed to Thee and asked Thee to 'close the lion's mouth,' as Thou didst for Daniel, and Thou wouldst have done it!"
"Ah," I thought, "could C—— and H—— see the look the beloved Master cast upon their boy as he made his brave reply, they would be comforted even for the absence of their darling."
Lost in these thoughts, I heard no more that passed, until an ecstatic shout from the little folks proclaimed how satisfactorily the story had ended, and, looking up, I saw the Savior passing onward, with the baby still in his arms, and the children trooping about him.
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven." How well he understood! How much he loved them!
I, too, arose and started homeward. I had not gone far before I met my brother Frank, who greeted me with:
"I am on my way to the city by the lake; will you accompany me?"
"It has been long my wish to visit the city. I only waited until you thought it wise for me to go," I answered.
"You are growing so fast in the knowledge of the heavenly ways," he said, "that I think I might venture to take you almost anywhere with me now. You acquire the knowledge for the very love of it; not because you feel it your duty to know what we would have you learn. Your eagerness to gather to yourself all truth, and at the same time your patient submission in waiting, ofttimes when I know the trial is great, have won for you much praise and love from our dear Master, who watches eagerly the progress of us all in the divine life. I think it only right that you should know of this; we need encouragement here as well as in the earth-life, though in a different way. I tell you this by divine permission. I think it will not be long before He trusts you with a mission; but this I say of myself, not by his command."
It would be impossible for me to convey, in the language of earth, the impression these words of commendation left upon me. They were so unexpected, so unforeseen. I had gone on, as my brother said, eagerly gathering the knowledge imparted to me, with a genuine love for the study of all things pertaining to the blessed life, without a thought that I in any way deserved commendation for so doing; and now I had won the approbation of the Master himself! The happiness seemed almost more than I had strength to bear.
"My brother, my dear brother!" was all I could say, in my deep joy, stopping suddenly and looking up into his face with grateful tears.
"I am so glad for you, little sister!" he said, warmly clasping my hand. "There are, you see, rewards in heaven; it does my soul good that you have unconsciously won one of these so soon."
I would I might record in detail the precious words of wisdom that fell from his lips; I would that I might recount minutely the events of that wonderful life as it was unfolded to me day by day; but I can only say, "I may not." When I undertook to make a record of that never-to-be-forgotten time, I did not realize how many serious difficulties I would have to encounter; how often I would have to pause and consider if I might really reveal this truth or paint that scene as it appeared to me. The very heart has often been left out of some wonderful scene I was attempting to describe, because I found I dared not reveal its sacred secret. I realize painfully that the narrative, as I am forced to give it, falls infinitely short of what I hoped to make it when I began. But bear with me; it is no fancy sketch I am drawing, but the veritable life beyond, as it appeared to me when the exalted spirit rose triumphant over the impoverished flesh, made slavishly subservient through suffering.
My brother and I walked slowly back to the margin of the lake, where we stepped into a boat lying near the shore, and were at once transported to the farther shore of the lake, and landed upon a marble terrace—the entrance to the city by the lake. I never knew by what power these boats were propelled. There were no oarsmen, no engine, no sails, upon the one in which we crossed the water; but it moved steadily onward till we were safely landed at our destination. Luxuriously cushioned seats were all around it, and upon one of them lay a musical instrument, something like a violin, although it had no bow, but seemed to be played by the fingers alone. Upon another seat lay a book. I picked it up and opened it; it seemed to be a continuation of that book that has stirred and thrilled millions of hearts in the mortal life—"The Greatest Thing in the World." As I glanced through it while we journeyed, I grasped the truth that this great mind already had grappled with the mighty things of eternity and given food to immortals, even as he had to those in mortal life in the years gone by.
I was roused from my thoughts by the boat touching the marble terrace, and found my brother already standing waiting to assist me to the shore. Passing up a slight acclivity, we found ourselves in a broad street that led into the heart of the city. The streets I found were all very broad and smooth, and paved with marble and precious stones of every kind. Though they were thronged with people intent on various duties, not an atom of debris, or even dust, was visible anywhere. There seemed to be vast business houses of many kinds, though I saw nothing resembling our large mercantile establishments. There were many colleges and schools; many book and music-stores and publishing houses; several large manufactories, where, I learned, were spun the fine silken threads of manifold colors which were so extensively used in the weaving of the draperies I have already mentioned. There were art rooms, picture galleries and libraries, and many lecture halls and vast auditoriums. But I saw no churches of any kind. At first this somewhat confused me, until I remembered that there are no creeds in heaven, but that all worship together in harmony and love—the children of one and the same loving Father. "Ah," I thought, "what a pity that that fact, if no other in the great economy of heaven, could not be proclaimed to the inhabitants of earth! How it would do away with the petty contentions, jealousies and rivalries of the church militant! No creeds in heaven! No controverted points of doctrine! No charges of heresy brought by one professed Christian against another! No building up of one denomination upon the ruins or downfall of a different sect! But one great universal brotherhood whose head is Christ, and whose corner-stone is Love." I thought of the day we had listened in the great auditorium at home to the divine address of our beloved Master; of the bowed heads and uplifted voices of that vast multitude as every voice joined in the glorious anthem, "Crown Him Lord of All!" and I could have wept to think of the faces that must some day be bowed in shame when they remember how often they have in mortal life said to a brother Christian, "Stand aside; I am holier than thou!"
We found no dwelling-houses anywhere in the midst of the city, until we came to the suburbs. Here they stood in great magnificence and splendor. But one pleasing fact was that every home had its large door-yard, full of trees and flowers and pleasant walks; indeed, it was everywhere, outside of the business center of the town, like one vast park dotted with lovely houses. There was much that charmed, much that surprised me in this great city, of which I may not fully speak, but which I never can forget. We found in one place a very large park, with walks and drives and fountains and miniature lakes and shaded seats, but no dwellings or buildings of any kind, except an immense circular open temple capable of seating many hundred; and where, my brother told me, a seraph choir assembled at a certain hour daily and rendered the oratorios written by the great musical composers of earth and heaven. It had just departed, and the crowd who had enjoyed its divine music yet lingered as though loath to leave a spot so hallowed.
"We will remember the hour," my brother said, "and come again when we can hear them."