CHAPTER XIV.
Not all the archangels can tell
The joys of that holiest place,
Where the Father is pleased to reveal
The light of His heavenly face.
—[Charles Wesley.
"And the temple was filled with smoke from the glory of God, and from his power."—Rev. 15: 8.
Still passing through the park, we came out upon the open country, and walked some distance through flowery meadows and undulating plains. At length we entered a vast forest whose great trees towered above us like swaying giants. The day was well-nigh spent—the day so full of joy and glad surprises and happy hours! Full as it had been I felt there was still something left for me, deep hidden in the twilight-valley of the day; something that held my soul in awe, as the last moments preceding the Holy Sacrament.
My brother walked by me, absorbed in silent thought, but with a touch beyond even his usual gentleness. I did not ask where we were going at that unusual hour, so far from home, for fear and doubt and questionings no longer vexed the quiet of my soul. Although the forest was dense, the golden glow of the twilight rested beneath the trees, and sifted down through the quivering branches overhead, as though falling through the windows of some grand cathedral.
At length we emerged from the forest upon a vast plain that stretched out into illimitable space before us, and far away we faintly heard the thunder of the breaking waves of that immortal sea of which I had heard so much but had not yet seen. But for their faint and distant reverberation the silence about us was intense. We stood a moment upon the verge of the forest, then as we advanced a few steps into the plain I became aware that immediately to our right the ground rose into quite an elevation; and, as I turned, a sight broke upon my bewildered eyes that the eternal years of earth and heaven can never efface. Upon the summit of this gentle slope a Temple stood, whose vast dome, massive pillars and solid walls were of unsullied pearl, and through whose great mullioned windows shone a white radiance that swallowed up the golden glow of the twilight and made it its own. I did not cry aloud nor hide my face, as at former revelations; but I sank slowly to my knees, and, crossing my hands upon my breast, with uplifted face, stilled heart and silent lips, laid my whole being in worship at His feet "who sitteth upon the throne." How long I knelt thus I know not. Even immortal life seemed lost before that greatest of celestial mysteries. At length my brother, who had been silently kneeling beside me, arose, and, lifting me to my feet, whispered gently, "Come."
I felt rather than saw that his face was colorless with the depth of his emotion, and I yielded to his guidance in silence. A long flight of low, broad steps, in gradations, rose from almost where we stood to the very door of the Temple. They, too, were of solid pearl, bordered on either side by channels paved with golden stones through which coursed crystal waters that met and mingled in one stream far out upon the plain. Ascending these steps, we entered the Temple, and for a moment stood in silence. I do not know how it was, but in that brief instant—it may have been longer than I knew—every detail of that wonderful interior was fastened upon my memory as a scene is photographed upon the artist's plate. Heretofore it had taken repeated visits to a room to enable me to describe it correctly in detail, but this, in a lightning's flash, was stamped upon the tablet of my memory indelibly for all time—nay, for eternity.
The immense dome, at that moment filled with a luminous cloud, was upheld by three rows of massive pillars of gold. The walls and floors were of pearl, as also the great platform that filled at least one-third of the Temple upon the eastern side. There were no seats of any kind. The great golden pillars stood like rows of sentinels upon the shining floor. A railing of gold ran entirely around the platform upon the three sides, so that it was inaccessible from the body of the Temple. Beneath this railing, upon the temple-floor, a kneeling-step passed around the platform, also of pearl. In the center of the platform an immense altar of gold arose, supported by seraphs of gold with outspread wings, one at each corner; and underneath it, in a great pearl basin, a fountain of sparkling water played, and I knew intuitively it was the source of the magical river that flowed through the gardens of heaven and bore from us the last stains of death and sin.
Nothing living, beside ourselves, was within the Temple except two persons who knelt with bowed heads beside the altar-rail upon the farther side; but by the altar stood four angels, one upon either side, dressed in flowing garments of white, with long, slim trumpets of gold uplifted in their hands, as though waiting in expectancy the signal for their trumpet call. Long draperies of silvery gossamer hung in heavy folds back of the altar platform. Suddenly, in the moment that we looked, we saw the draperies tremble and glow until a radiance far beyond the splendor of the sun at mid-day shone through them, and the whole Temple was "filled with the glory of the Lord." We saw, in the midst of the luminous cloud that filled the dome, the forms of angelic harpers, and as we dropped with bowed heads beside the altar-rail and hid our faces from the "brightness of His coming," we heard the trumpet-call of the four angels about the altar, and the voices of the celestial harpers as they sang:
"Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty!
All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth, and sky, and sea.
Holy, Holy, Holy, merciful and mighty,
God in three persons—blessed Trinity. Amen!"
The voices softly died away; the last notes of the golden trumpets had sounded; "and there was silence in heaven." We knew that the visible glory of the Lord was, for the present, withdrawn from the Temple which is his throne; still we knelt with bowed heads in silent worship before him. When at last we arose I did not lift my eyes while within the Temple; I desired it to remain upon my memory as it appeared when filled with his glory.
We walked some time in silence, I leaning upon my brother's arm, for I yet trembled with emotion. I was surprised that we did not return into the forest, but went still farther out upon the plain. But when I saw that we approached the confluence of the two streams which issued from the fountain beneath the altar, I began to understand that we would return by way of the river, instead of by forest and lake.
We reached the stream, at length, and, stepping into a boat that lay by the shore, we were soon floating with the current toward home. We passed through much beautiful scenery on our course that I had not seen before, and which I resolved I would visit in the future, when leisure from my daily duties would permit. Lovely villas, surrounded by beautiful grounds stretching directly up from the water's edge, lay on both sides of the river, and formed a panorama upon which the eye never tired of resting. Toward the end of the journey we passed my sister's lovely home, and we could plainly see her and her husband drinking in the scene with enraptured eyes, from the window of her own room.
My brother and I were both silent the greater part of the time during our journey homeward, though each noted with observant eyes the signs of happy domestic life by which we were surrounded on every side. The verandas and steps of the homes we passed were full of their happy inmates; glad voices could be constantly heard, and merry shouts of laughter came from the throngs of little children playing everywhere upon the flowery lawns. Once I broke our silence by saying to my brother:
"I have been more than once delightfully surprised to hear the familiar songs of earth reproduced in heaven, but never more so than I was to-day. That hymn has long been a favorite of mine."
"These happy surprises do not come by chance," he answered. "One of the delights of this rare life is that no occasion is ever overlooked for reproducing here the pure enjoyments of our mortal life. It is the Father's pleasure to make us realize that this existence is but a continuance of the former life, only without its imperfections and its cares."
"Frank, I believe you are the only one of our friends here who has never questioned me about the dear ones left behind; why is it?"
He smiled a peculiarly happy smile as he answered: "Perhaps it is because I already know more than you could tell me."
"I wondered if it was not so," I said, for I remembered well how my dear father had said, in speaking of my brother upon the first day of my coming, "He stands very near to the Master," and I knew how often he was sent upon missions to the world below.
I lay down upon my couch, on our return, with a heart overflowing with joy and gratitude and love, beyond the power of expression; and it seemed to me the tenderness in the Divine eyes that looked down upon me from the wall was deeper, purer, holier than it had ever been before.
"I will reach the standard of perfection you have set for me, my Savior," I faltered, with clasped hands uplifted to him, "if it takes all my life in heaven and all the help from all the angels of light to accomplish it;" and with these words upon my lips, and his tender eyes resting upon me, I sank into the blissful repose of heaven.
CHAPTER XV.
I shall know the loved who have gone before,
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,
The Angel of Death shall carry me.
—[Nancy A. W. Priest.
So much occurred, and so rapidly, from the very hour of my entrance within the beautiful gates, that it is impossible for me to transcribe it all. I have been able only to cull here and there incidents that happened day by day; and in so doing many things I would gladly have related have unconsciously been omitted. Of the many dear friends I met, only a very few have been mentioned, for the reason that, of necessity, such meetings are so similar in many respects that the constant repetition, in detail, would become wearisome. I have aimed principally to give such incidents as would show the beautiful domestic life in that happy world; to make apparent the reverence and love all hearts feel toward the blessed Trinity for every good and perfect gift, and to show forth the marvelous power of the Christ-love even in the life beyond the grave.
This world, strange and new to me, held multitudes of those I had loved in the years gone by, and there was scarcely an hour that did not renew for me the ties that once were severed in the mortal life. I remember that as I was walking one day in the neighborhood of Mrs. Wickham's home, shortly after my first memorable visit there, I was attracted by an unpretentious but very beautiful house, almost hidden by luxuriant climbing rose vines, whose flowers of creamy whiteness were beyond compare with any roses I had yet seen in earth or heaven. Meeting Mrs. Wickham, I pointed to the house and asked: "Who lives there?"
"Suppose you go over and see," she said.
"Is it any one I know?" I asked.
"I fancy so. See, someone is even now at the door as though expecting you."
I crossed over the snowy walk and flowery turf—for the house stood in an angle formed by two paths crossing, almost opposite Mrs. Wickham's—and before I could ascend the steps I found myself in the embrace of two loving arms.
"Bertha Sprague! I was sure it was you when I saw you go to Mrs. Wickham's a day or two ago. Did not she tell you I was here?"
"She had no opportunity until to-day," I said. "But dear Aunt Ann, I should have found you soon; I am sure you know that."
"Yes, I am sure you would."
Then I recounted to her something of my visit to Mrs. Wickham's that eventful day. She listened with her dear face full of sympathy, then said:
"There, dear, you need not tell me. Do I not know? When the Master comes to gladden my eyes, I have no thought or care for anything beyond, for days and days! Oh, the joy, the peace of knowing I am safe in this blessed haven! How far beyond all our earthly dreams is this divine life!"
She sat for a moment lost in thought, then said wistfully: "Now, tell me of my children—are they coming?"
I gladdened her heart with all the cheering news I could bring of her loved ones; and so we talked the hours away, recalling many sweet memories of the earth-life, of friends and home and family ties, and looking forward to the future coming to us of those whom even the joys of heaven could not banish from our hearts.
Then also another evening, as the soft twilight fell, and many of our dear home circle were gathered with us in the great "flower-room," we heard a step upon the veranda, and as my brother went to the open door a gentle voice said:
"Is Mrs. Sprague really here?"
"She is really here. Come and see for yourself." And sweet Mary Green entered the room.
"I am so glad to welcome you home!" she said, coming to me with extended hands, and looking into mine with her tender, earnest eyes.
"My precious girl!" I cried, taking her to my heart in a warm embrace. "I have been asking about you, and longing to see you."
"I could scarcely wait to reach here when I heard that you had come. Now, tell me everything—everything!" she said as I drew her to a seat close beside me.
But questions asked and the answers given are too sacred for rehearsal here. Every individual member of her dear home-circle was discussed, and many were the incidents she recounted to me that had occurred in her presence when her mother and I were together and talking of the dear child we considered far removed from our presence.
"I was often so close that I could have touched you with my hand, had the needed power been given," she said.
After a long, close converse had been held between us, I took her to the library, whither the rest had gone to examine a new book just that day received. I introduced her to them all as the daughter of dear friends still on earth, confident of the welcome she would receive. My youngest sister and she at once became interested in each other, finding congeniality in many of their daily pursuits, and I was glad to believe they would henceforth see much of each other in many different ways.
There was no measurement of time as we measure it here, although many still spoke in the old-time language of "months" and "days" and "years." I have no way of describing it as it seemed to me then. There were periods, and allotted times; there were hours for happy duties, hours for joyful pleasures, and hours for holy praise. I only know it was all harmony, all joy, all peace, at all times and in all conditions.
CHAPTER XVI.
There is an endearing tenderness in the love of a mother to a son, that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity; and if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her by misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish him; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him.—[Washington Irving.
The current of my life flowed on in the heavenly ways, until the months began to lengthen into years and my daily studies ascended higher in the scale of celestial mysteries. I never wearied of study, though much was taught and gained through the medium of observation in the journeys that I was permitted to take with my brother into different parts of the heavenly kingdom. I never lacked time for social pleasures and enjoyments, for there is no clashing of duties with inclination, no unfulfilled desires, no vain strivings for the unattainable in that life, as in the life of earth. Many precious hours of intercourse were spent in my dear father's home, and sometimes on rare occasions I was permitted to accompany him to his field of labor and assist him in instructing those lately come into the new life with little or no preparation for its duties and responsibilities. On one occasion he said to me:
"I have the most difficult problem to deal with I have ever yet met in this work. It is how to enlighten and help a man who suddenly plunged from an apparently honorable life into the very depths of crime. I have never been able to get him to accompany me to the river, where these earthly cobwebs would be swept from his poor brain; his excuse being always that God's mercy is so great in allowing him inside heaven's gates at all, that he is content to remain always in its lowest scale of enjoyment and life. No argument or teaching thus far can make him alter his decision. He was led astray by infatuation for a strange woman, and killed his aged mother in order to secure her jewels for this wretched creature. He was executed for the crime, of which in the end he sincerely repented, but he left life with all the horror of the deed clinging to his soul."
"Has he seen his mother since coming here? Does she know of his arrival?"
"No; she is entirely alone in this world, and it was not thought wise to tell her of his coming till his soul was in a better condition to receive her. He was an only child, and does not lack the elements of refinement, but he was completely under the control of this vile though fascinating woman. It is said she drugged his wine and incited him to do the dreadful deed while under its influence, because of her hatred for his mother, whose influence was against her. When he came from under the influence of the wine, he was horrified at what he had done, and his infatuation for the woman turned to loathing—but, alas, too late! He would not see her during his entire incarceration."
"How long was he in prison?"
"Almost a year."
"Has he seen the Christ?"
"No; he begs not to see him. He is very repentant, and grateful to be saved from the wrath he feels was his just punishment, but though he is conscious that his sin is forgiven, he does not yet feel that he can ever stand in the presence of the Holy One. And here, as upon earth, each must be willing to receive him. His presence is never given undesired. I have not yet appealed for higher help; my ambition is to lead these weak souls upward through the strength entrusted to me. Can you suggest anything that would probably reach him?"
"His mother. May I bring her?"
He thought a moment reflectively, then said: "A woman's intuition. Yes, bring her."
"O sweet and blessed country,
"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."]
I soon was on my way. I found the poor woman, laid the facts gently before her, and waited her decision. There was no hesitancy upon her part; in an instant she said, "My poor boy! Certainly I will go with you at once."
We found my father waiting for us, and went immediately to the great "Home" where these "students"—would we call them?—stayed. It was a beautiful great building in the midst of a park, with shaded walks and fountains and flowers everywhere. To one just freed from earth it seemed a paradise indeed; but to those of us who had tasted heaven's rarer joys, something was wanting. We missed the lovely individual homes, the little children playing on the lawns, the music of the angel choir; it was tame indeed beside the pleasures we had tasted.
We found the young man seated beneath one of the flower-laden trees, intently perusing a book that my father had left with him. There was a peaceful look on his pale face, but it was rather the look of patient resignation than of ardent joy. His mother approached him alone; my father and I remaining in the background. After a little time he glanced up and saw his mother standing near him. A startled look came into his face, and he rose to his feet. She extended her arms toward him, and cried out pathetically, "John, my dear boy, come home to me—I need you!" That was all.
With a low cry he knelt at her feet and clasped her knees, sobbing: "Mother! mother!"
She stooped and put her tender arms about him; she drew his head gently to her breast and showered kisses on his bowed head. Oh, the warm mother-love, the same in earth and heaven! Only the Christ-love can exceed it. Here was this outraged mother, sent into eternity by the hands of him who should have shielded and sustained her, bending above her repentant son with the mother-love with which her heart was overflowing shining upon him from her gentle eyes. I saw my father turn his head to conceal his emotion, and I knew that my own eyes were wet. My father had explained to the mother that the first thing to be accomplished was to get her son to the river, so we now heard her say caressingly:
"Come, John, my boy, take the first step upward, for your mother's sake, that in time I may have the joy of seeing you in our own home. Come, John, with mother."
She gently drew him, and to our great joy we saw him rise and go with her, and their steps led them to the river. They walked hand in hand, and as far as we could see them she seemed to be soothing and comforting him.
"Thank God!" said my father fervently. "There will be no further trouble now. When they return he will see with clearer vision." And so it proved.
After this, by divine permission, I became much of the time a co-laborer with my father, and thus enjoyed his society and his instructions much oftener than otherwise I could have done.
CHAPTER XVII.
"Some day," we say, and turn our eyes
Toward the fair hills of Paradise;
Some day, some time, a sweet new rest
Shall blossom, flower-like, in each breast.
Some day, some time, our eyes shall see
The faces kept in memory;
Some day their hand shall clasp our hand,
Just over in the Morning-land—
O Morning-land! O Morning-land!
—[Edward H. Phelps.
One evening, some three years—counted by the calendar of earth—after I had entered upon the joys and duties of the heavenly life, I sat resting upon the upper veranda of our home, after a somewhat arduous journey to a distant city of the heavenly realm. From this part of the veranda we caught rare glimpses of the river through the overhanging branches of the trees; and just below us, at a little distance, we could see the happy children at their play upon the lawn. Here my brother sought me out, and throwing himself upon a soft veranda lounge near, lay for a time motionless and silent. He looked as wearied as one can ever look in that life, but I felt no anxiety about him, for I knew the rest was sure. He had been absent on some earth-mission much of the time for many days, and I knew from experience that some of the fatigue and care of earth will cling to us on such occasions, till we are restored by heaven's balmy air and life-giving waters. He had not told me, as he sometimes did, where his mission had led him, and I had not asked him, feeling sure that all it was best I should know would be imparted. My own duties had of late been unusually responsible, leading me daily to a distant part of the heavenly kingdom, hence I myself had not visited the beloved of earth for a much longer period than usually elapsed between my visits. When last seen, all of the dear ones had seemed in such vigorous health and were so surrounded by earthly blessings that I had ceased to feel they needed my ministrations as in the early days of their sorrow, hence I had thrown all of my energies into the work assigned me by the Master.
At length, after a time of rest, my brother arose to a sitting posture, and regarding me for a moment in silence, said gently: "I have news for you, little sister."
A thrill like an electric shock passed through me, and in an instant I cried out joyously: "He is coming!"
He nodded his head, with a sympathetic smile, but did not at once reply.
"When will it be? Am I to go to him?" I asked.
He hesitated an instant before saying: "Of course you are permitted to go, if your heart will not be denied."
"Oh, I must go to him! I must be the first to greet him! Perhaps it may be granted him to see me even while he is yet in the flesh."
He shook his head sadly at this, and said, "No, dear; he will not know you."
"Why? Frank, tell me all—and why you think, as I plainly see you do, that it is not best I should go."
"He was stricken suddenly in the midst of his work, while apparently in perfect health, and has not regained consciousness since; nor will he ever on earth. Hence your presence could be no solace to him."
"When was this?"
"Three days ago; I have been with him almost constantly by day and night ever since."
"Oh, why did you not sooner tell me?"
"It was thought wise to spare you the unnecessary pain of seeing him suffer when you could not minister to him, and I have come to tell you now that you may go if you still so desire."
"He will know me as soon as the struggle is past?"
"Yes, but he will be bewildered and weak; he will need stronger help and guidance than you alone can give, and you will miss the rapture of the meeting as it would be a little later on."
"What would you have me do? You know I will yield to your wiser judgment even against the pleadings of my heart. But I can wait!"
"I will not say, 'do not go.' You shall accompany me if you wish. I only think that after the first bewilderment of the change has passed, after he has bathed in the waters of the River of Life, he will be better prepared for the delightful reunion which awaits him. You remember what the waters did for you, and how bewildered and oppressed in spirit you were till you went with me that morning, into the river. It is the same with all of us, only where there has been serious trouble with the brain at last, it is even more needed than on ordinary occasions. And that is the case with my brother; he will not be fully himself until the magical waters have swept the clouds from his brain."
"You are always right, my brother, and I will yield to your wise advice, although my heart cries out to hasten at once to his side. When will you return to him?"
"Immediately. There will be little time to wait. With the quickening of the morning light we will be here. My brave-hearted, wise little sister, the delay will be to you neither sorrowful nor long."
He arose, and, bending over me, dropped a kiss lightly on my brow, and in a moment he had passed from my sight.
"How strange," I thought, "that even in this matter, so near to my heart, I am able to yield unmurmuringly! Father, I thank Thee! I thank Thee for the glad reunion so near at hand; but, even more than that, for the sweet submission in all things that has grown into my life; that I can yield to Thy will even when Thou wouldst permit it to be otherwise."
I bowed my head upon my hand and gave myself up to mingled sad and happy thoughts. Was he, this dearly loved one, indeed insensible to his suffering? Would the Father mercifully spare him even the pang of the parting? Oh, that the morning were here! How could I wait even that brief while for the sight of the beloved face!
Suddenly a soft touch rested upon my bowed head, and a Voice I had learned to recognize and love beyond all things in earth or heaven said: "Have I not said truly, 'Though he were dead, yet shall he live again'? What are now the years of separation, since the meeting again is at hand? Come, and let us reason a little together," the Master said, smiling down into my uplifted face. He took my extended hand into his own, and sitting down beside me, continued:
"Let us consider what these years have done for you. Do you not feel that you are infinitely better prepared to confer happiness than when you parted from him you love?"
I nodded in glad affirmation.
"Do you not realize that you stand upon a higher plane, with more exalted ideas of life and its duties; and that, in the strength of the Father, you two henceforward will walk upward together?"
Again I gladly acquiesced.
"Is the home-life here less attractive than it was in the earth-life?"
"No, no! A thousand times no!" I cried.
"Then there is nothing but joy in the reunion at hand?"
"Nothing but joy," I echoed.
Then the Savior led me on to talk of the one so soon to come, and I opened my glad heart to him and told him of the noble life, the unselfish toil, the high aspirations, the unfaltering trust of him I loved. I spoke of his fortitude in misfortune, his courage in the face of sore trial and disappointment, his forgiveness of even malicious injury; and concluded by saying, "He lived the Christianity many others professed. He always distanced me in that."
The face of the Master glowed in sympathy as I talked, and when I ceased he said: "I perceive that you have discovered the secret which makes marriage eternal as the years of heaven."
"Oh," I said, "to me marriage must be eternal! How could it be otherwise when two grow together and become as one? Death cannot separate them without destroying; they are no longer two perfect beings, but one in soul and spirit forever."
"Aye," he answered; "but having the marriage rite pronounced does not produce this change. It is the divinity of soul wedded to soul alone that can do it."
So he led me on until my soul flew upward as a lark in the early morning. He unfolded to me mysteries of the soul-life that filled my heart with rapture, but which I may not here reveal. At length, to my infinite surprise, I saw the rosy glow deepening across the sky, and knew that morning—love's morning—had dawned for me in heaven. The Master arose, and pointing to the radiance, said: "By the time thou art ready to receive them they will be here;" and with a smile, and a touch that made a benediction, he departed.
As I arose and stood with face uplifted to the coming day, I caught in the near distance the triumphant notes of the angels' choral song; and this morning, as though in sympathy with my thought, they sang:
"He is risen! Hear it, ye heavens, and ye sons of earth! He is risen, and has become the firstfruits of them that slept!"
I lifted up my voice with joy, and joined their thrilling song; and as they swept onward and the cadence died away, I slowly descended the stairway, crossed the lawn whose flowers never crushed or withered beneath our feet, and sank for a moment beneath the pure waters of the river. I felt no haste, no unwonted excitement or unrest, though I knew that he was coming for whom my soul had waited all these years. The Master's presence had filled me with calm and peace that nothing had power to disturb; had prepared and fitted me for the great happiness lying just before me.
Uplifted with a new, strange delight, I recrossed the lawn, stopping upon the veranda before entering the house, to gather a knot of cream-white roses and fasten them to my breast. Then going to the library, I refilled the golden bowl with the spicy-breathed scarlet carnations, laying one aside to fasten upon my husband's shoulder. I wanted to myself gather the flowers that would greet him on his coming. I twisted up my hair in the manner that he had most admired, and fastened a creamy bud within the folds, that I might seem to him as I had of old.
Soon thereafter I heard voices and steps. Listen! Yes, it is the same dear step for which I had so often listened in the old home-life, the step that had always brought gladness to my heart, and sunshine in our home! His step in heaven! I flew to the open doorway, and in an instant was held close in the strong arms and to the loving, throbbing heart of my dear husband. Was there anything more for me that heaven could give!
My brother, with thoughtful care, passed onward to the upper rooms of the house, and for awhile we were alone together, we whose lives had run, so happily mingled, through the long years of our mortal life. I drew him within the house, and in the vestibule again he took me in his arms and drew me to his heart.
"This is heaven indeed!" he said.
We passed into the "flower-room," and on its threshold he stood a moment, entranced with its beauty; but when I would have related to him its history, as my brother had given it to me, he said: "Not to-day, my dear; I have only eyes and ears for you to-day; all else in heaven must wait."
So we sat and talked together as in the olden days, and the happy hours came and went, and the day melted into the twilight glow, before we realized it was half spent. Our brother Frank had come to us about the noontide, and together we had gone over the lovely house, had stood upon the broad verandas and eaten of the heavenly fruit. Then we all sat together where I had spent the hours waiting in the presence of the blessed Master. I told them much that he then had said to me, and how he turned into triumphant rejoicing the hours which I had anticipated would pass in lonely waiting. The eyes of my dear husband were tear-filled, and he pressed my hand, which he still kept in his, in tender sympathy.
"Oh, darling, it is a blessed, blessed life!" I said.
"I already realize the blessedness," he replied, "for has it not given me back my brother and my wife—my precious wife!"
Early the following morning I said to my husband and our brother: "We must go to father and mother Sprague's to-day. They have the first claim, after ours, Frank."
"Yes, we will go at once," they both replied.
So together we all started. In the earliest days of my heavenly life I had sought out with much joy the home of my husband's parents, and was by them accorded, as in the earth-life, a warm place in their hearts, and many happy hours had we spent together since. Now we were taking to them a favorite son, and I realized how his coming would bring gladness to their hearts and home. It was a joyful meeting, especially to our mother, and the day was far spent before we arose to return.
"William," said our mother, fondly laying her hand upon his arm, "yours was a happy home on earth—I used to think a perfect home; it will be far happier here," with a loving glance at me.
"I am sure of that, mother. I have my dear wife and Frank constantly with me; and you and my father and Josephine"—a favorite niece—"to come to here; and after awhile," with a little hesitation, "the holier joys and privileges of heaven."
We turned to go, and upon the threshold met an aunt who in the earth-life—blind and helpless—had been a favorite with us all.
"My dear children," she exclaimed, "how good it seems to see you all again!"
"Aunt Cynthia!" my husband said fondly.
"Yes, Aunt Cynthia, but no longer groping helpless in the darkness. 'Whereas I once was blind, now I see,'" she quoted, smiling happily.
And so it was—the Master's touch had rested on the sightless eyes, and, closing to the darkness of earth, they had opened upon the glories of heaven. Marvelous transition! No wonder we left her singing:
Glory to Him who this marvel hath wrought,
Filling my spirit with joy and delight!
Lo, in my blindness I safely have walked
Out of the darkness into the light!
CHAPTER XVIII.
Down by the sea, the crystal sea,
Where all of the redeemed shall be,
Where you and I, beloved, shall go,
Our crimson robes washed white as snow
In Christ's dear blood—what hymns of praise
Thro' countless ages we shall raise!
There all our loved ones we shall see—
Think what a meeting that will be
Down by the sea!
—[From "Songs by the Sea."
Days lengthened into weeks, and weeks into months, and these in turn crept onward into years, and the duties and joys of heaven grew clearer and dearer with each passing hour. Our home-life was perfect, though we looked forward with joy to the future coming of our son and daughter to make its ties complete. We had often spoken of going together to the great celestial sea, but the time had never seemed quite ripe for so doing. We realized it was one of the great mysteries of heaven, although we knew not just what to expect, since there no one ever seeks to forestall sight by description. One evening I said to my brother:
"I have a strange desire to go to the sea, if you think it wise that we should do so."
"I am glad that it is your desire to go, as it is mine to have you. I was about to propose that you and my brother should take together this blessed journey."
"Will you not accompany us?"
"Not at this time. We will all take it again together, but it is best that now you two should go alone. You know the way. Through the forest that leads to the Temple, till almost there; then bear to the right and follow the golden path that takes you direct to the shore."
So, in the quivering light of the glorious morning we started, full of a holy joy that together we might take this special journey. We entered and traversed the great forest, where the golden light fell through the quivering branches overhead, and birds of gorgeous plumage and thrilling song were darting everywhere. We heard, nearer and ever nearer, the regular dashing of the waves against the shore; and now there came to us bursts of triumphant song and the harmony of many instruments of music. At length we emerged from the forest, and stood mute and motionless before the overwhelming glory of the scene before us.
Can I describe it as it appeared to me that day? Never, until my lips can speak, and your heart understand, the language of the royal courts above. From our very feet sloped downward toward the shore a golden strand many hundred feet wide, and extending on either hand far beyond the limits of our vision. This strand caught and radiated the morning light until wherever it was visible it glittered and glimmered like the dust of diamonds and other precious stones, and the waves, as they came and went in ceaseless motion, caught up this sparking sand and carried it on their crests, like the phosphorescence we sometimes see in the wake of a vessel in mid-ocean. And the sea! It spread out before us in a radiance that passes description in any language I have ever known. It was like the white glory that shone through the windows of the Temple, and beneath this shining glory we caught in the roll of the waves the blue tint of the waters of that sea which has no limit to its depths or bounds. Upon its shining bosom we saw in every direction boats, representing all nations, but in beauty of construction far surpassing anything earth has ever known. They were like great open pleasure-barges, and were filled with people looking with eager faces toward the shore, many in their eagerness standing erect and gazing with wistful, expectant eyes into the faces of those upon the shore.
Ah, the people upon the shore! "Numberless as the sands of the sea," they stood, far as the eye could reach, far as stretched the shore of that illimitable sea, a great mass of beautiful souls clad in the spotless garments of the redeemed. Many among them had golden harps and various instruments of music, and whenever a boat touched the shore and its inmates were welcomed by the glad voices and tender embraces of their beloved ones in the throng, the harps would be held aloft, all of the golden instruments would sound, and the vast multitude would break forth into the triumphant song of victory over death and the grave.
"Do these people stand here always, I wonder?" I said softly.
"Not the same people," said a radiant being near us, who had heard my question. "But there is always a throng of people here—those who are expecting friends from the other life, and those who assemble to share their joy. Some of the heavenly choristers also are always here, but not always the same ones. You will notice that most of those who arrive are led quietly away by their friends, and many others are constantly joining the multitude."
He passed onward toward the shore, and left us rapt in awe and wonder.
We soon became deeply interested in watching the reunions, and found ourselves joining with rapture in the glad songs of rejoicing. Now and then a face we remembered to have seen on earth would be among the eager faces in the boats, but none that had been especially dear to us; still it made us notice more closely and sympathize more heartily with those who welcomed beloved friends. Now we would see a wife caught in the close embrace of a waiting husband; now a little child with a glad cry would spring into the outstretched arms of the happy mother; friend would clasp friend in glad reunion, and here an aged mother would be folded to the heart of a beloved child.
As one boat of more than usual strength and beauty came riding gracefully over the waves, we observed the tall figure of a man standing near her prow with his arms about a graceful woman who stood by his side. Each shaded with uplifted hand from their dazzled eyes the unwonted splendor and scanned, wistfully and searchingly, the faces of the crowd as the boat neared the shore. Suddenly with a great thrill of joy surging through my being, I cried out:
"It is our precious son, and his dear wife! And they have come together!"
In an instant we were swiftly moving through the throng that parted in ready sympathy to let us pass. And, as the boat touched the shore, with a swift movement they were both beside us—the dear daughter already close clasped to the hearts of her own happy parents who were waiting near the water's edge, while at the same instant we felt the arms of our beloved son enfolding us; and soon thereafter we were all in each other's embrace. Oh, what a rapturous moment was that! Our home life in heaven complete, no partings forever! As we stood with encircling arms, scarcely realizing the unexpected bliss, the heavenly choir broke into song; and with uplifted faces radiant with joy, eyes filled with happy tears and voices trembling with emotion, we all joined in the glad anthem:
Glory be unto the Father, and unto the Son!
Glory be unto the ever-blessed Three in One!
No more sorrow, no more parting, no more grief or pain;
Christ has broken death's strong fetters, we are free again!
Heart to heart and hand to hand,
Meet we on the golden strand.
Glory, glory to the Father! Glory to the Son!
Glory be unto the ever-blessed Three in One!
Alleluia! Amen!