O City of Peace! in thy palaces fair
Loved faces and forms we can see;
And sweet voices float to us thro' the calm air
That whisper, "We're watching for thee!"
We walked on for some distance in silence, my heart wrestling with the
thoughts of the new, strange life, my eyes drinking in fresh beauty at
every step. The houses, as we approached and passed them, seemed
wondrously beautiful to me. They were built of the finest marbles,
encircled by broad verandas, the roofs or domes supported by massive or
delicate pillars or columns; and winding steps led down to the pearl
and golden walks. The style of the architecture was unlike anything I
had ever seen, and the flowers and vines that grew luxuriantly
everywhere surpassed in beauty even those of my brightest dreams.
Happy faces looked out from these columned walls, and happy voices rang
upon the clear air, from many a celestial home.
"Frank, where are we going?" at length I asked.
"Home, little sister," he answered tenderly.
"Home? Have we a home, my brother? Is it anything like these?" I
asked, with a wild desire in my heart to cry out for joy.
"Come and see," was his only answer, as he turned into a side path
leading toward an exquisitely beautiful house whose columns of very
light gray marble shone through the green of the overhanging trees with
most inviting beauty. Before I could join him, I heard a
well-remembered voice saying close beside me:
"I just had to be the first to bid you welcome!" and looking around, I
saw the dearly-beloved face of my old-time friend, Mrs. Wickham.
"Oh! Oh!" I cried, as we met in a warm embrace.
"You will forgive me, Col. Sprague," she said a moment later, giving
her hand cordially to my brother. "It seems unpardonable to intercept
you thus, in almost the first hour, but I heard that she was coming,
and I could not wait. But now that I have looked upon her face, and
heard her dear voice, I will be patient till I can have her for a long,
long talk."
"You must come in and see her now," said my brother cordially.
"Do, do come!" I urged.
"No, dear friends, not now. You know, dear little Blossom," (the old
pet name for me years ago) "we have all eternity before us! But you
will bring her to me soon, Col. Sprague?" she said.
"Just as soon as I may, dear madam," he replied, with an expressive
look into her eyes.
"Yes, I understand," she said softly, with a sympathetic glance at me.
Then with a warm hand-clasp, and the parting injunction, "Come very
soon," she passed swiftly out of my sight.
"Blessed woman!" I said, "what a joy to meet her again!"
"Her home is not far away; you can often see her. She is indeed a
lovely woman. Now, come, little sister, I long to give you welcome to
our home," saying which, he took my hand and led me up the low steps on
to the broad veranda, with its beautiful inlaid floor of rare and
costly marbles, and its massive columns of gray, between which, vines
covered with rich, glossy leaves of green were intermingled with
flowers of exquisite color and delicate perfume hanging in heavy
festoons. We paused a moment here, that I might see the charming view
presented on every side.
"It is heavenly!" I said.
"It is heavenly," he answered. "It could not be otherwise."
I smiled my acknowledgment of this truth--my heart was too full for
words.
"The entire house, both below and above, is surrounded by these broad
verandas. But come within."
He led me through a doorway, between the marble columns, into a large
reception hall, whose inlaid floor, mullioned window, and broad, low
stairway at the far end, at once held my fancy. Before I could speak,
my brother turned to me, and, taking both my hands, said:
"Welcome, a thousand welcomes, dearest sister, to your heavenly home!"
"Is this beautiful place indeed to be my home?" I asked, as well as my
emotion would allow.
"Yes, dear," he replied. "I built it for you and my brother, and I
assure you it has been a labor of love."
"It is your home, and I am to stay with you?" I said, a little confused.
"No, it is your home, and I am to stay with you till my brother comes."
"Always, dear brother, always!" I cried, clinging to his arm.
He smiled and said, "We will enjoy the present; we never will be far
apart again. But come, I am eager to show you all."
Turning to the left, he led me, still through the beautiful marble
columns that everywhere seemed substituted for doorways, into a large,
oblong room, upon whose threshold I stopped in wondering delight. The
entire walls and floor of the room were still of that exquisite light
gray marble, polished to the greatest luster; but over walls and floors
were strewn exquisite, long-stemmed roses, of every variety and color,
from the deepest crimson to the most delicate shades of pink and yellow.
"Come inside," said my brother.
"I do not wish to crush those perfect flowers," I answered.
"Well, then, suppose we gather some of them."
I stooped to take one from the floor close to my feet, when lo! I found
it was imbedded in the marble. I tried another with the same
astonishing result, then turning to my brother, I said:
"What does it mean? You surely do not tell me that none of these are
natural flowers?"
He nodded his head with a pleased smile, then said: "This room has a
history. Come in and sit with me here upon this window-seat, where you
can see the whole room, and let me tell you about it." I did as he
desired, and he continued: "One day as I was busily working upon the
house, a company of young people, boys and girls, came to the door, and
asked if they might enter. I gladly gave assent, and then one of them
said:
"'Is this house really for Mr. and Mrs. Sprague?'
"'It is,' I answered.
"'We used to know and love them. They are our friends, and the friends
of our parents, and we want to know if we may not do something to help
you make it beautiful?'
"'Indeed you may,' I said, touched by the request. 'What can you do?'
"We were here at the time, and looking about, one of them asked, 'May
we beautify this room?'
"'Undoubtedly,' I said, wondering what they would try to do.
"At once the girls, all of whom had immense bunches of roses in their
hands, began to throw the flowers broadcast over the floor and against
the walls. Wherever they struck the walls, they, to even my surprise,
remained, as though in some way permanently attached. When the roses
had all been scattered, the room looked just as it does now, only the
flowers were really fresh-gathered roses. Then the boys each produced
a small case of delicate tools, and in a moment all, boys and girls,
were down upon the marble floor and busy at work. How they did it I do
not know--it is one of the celestial arts, taught to those of highly
artistic tastes--but they embedded each living flower just where and as
it had fallen, in the marble, and preserved it as you see before you.
They came several times before the work was completed, for the flowers
do not wither here, nor fade, but were always fresh and perfect. And
such a merry, happy company of young people, I never saw before. They
laughed and chatted and sang, as they worked; and I could not help
wishing more than once that the friends whom they had left mourning for
them might look in upon this happy group, and see how little cause they
had for sorrow. At last when all was complete, they called me to see
their work, and I was not chary of my praises either for the beauty of
the work or for their skill in performing it. Then, saying they would
be sure to return when either of you came, they went away together, to
do something of the kind elsewhere, I doubt not."
Happy tears had been dropping upon my hands, clasped idly in my lap,
during much of this narrative, and now I asked half-brokenly, for I was
greatly touched:
"Who were these lovely people, Frank? Do you know them?"
"Of course, I know them now; but they were all strangers to me till
they came here that first morning, except Lulu Sprague."
"Who are they?"
"There were three Marys--Mary Green, Mary Bates, Mary Chalmers; Lulu
Sprague and Mae Camden. These were the girls, each lovely and
beautiful. The boys, all manly, fine fellows, were Carroll Ashland,
Stanley and David Chalmers."
"Precious children!" I said. "How little I thought my love for them,
in the olden days, would ever bring to me this added happiness here!
How little we know of the links binding the two worlds!"
"Ah, yes!" said my brother, "that is just it. How little we know! If
only we could realize while we are yet mortals, that day by day we are
building for eternity, how different our lives in many ways would be!
Every gentle word, every generous thought, every unselfish deed, will
become a pillar of eternal beauty in the life to come. We cannot be
selfish and unloving in one life, and generous and loving in the next;
the two lives are too closely blended--one but a continuation of the
other. But come now to the library."
Rising, we crossed the room that henceforward was to hold for me such
tender associations, and entered the library. It was a glorious
apartment--the walls lined from ceiling to floor with rare and costly
books. A large, stained-glass window opened upon the front veranda,
and two large bow-windows, not far apart, were in the back of the room.
A semicircular row of shelves, supported by very delicate pillars of
gray marble, about six feet high, extended some fifteen feet into the
spacious main room and cut it into two sections lengthwise, each with
one of the bowed windows in the back, leaving still a large space
beyond the dividing line, where the two sections united again into one.
The concave side of the semicircle of shelves was toward the entrance
of the room; and close to it, not far removed from the bowed window,
stood a beautiful writing-desk, with everything ready for use; and upon
it was a chaste golden bowl, filled with scarlet carnations, of whose
spicy odor I had been dimly conscious for some time.
"My brother's desk," said Frank.
"And his favorite flowers," I added.
"Yes, that follows. Here we never forget the tastes and preferences of
those we love."
It is not to be supposed that these details were at once noticed by me,
but they unfolded to me gradually as we lingered, talking together. My
first sensation upon entering the room was genuine surprise at the
sight of the books, and my first words were:
"Why, have we books in heaven?"
"Why not?" asked my brother. "What strange ideas we mortals have of
the pleasures and duties of this blessed life! We seem to think that
death of the body means an entire change to the soul. But that is not
the case, by any means. We bring to this life the same tastes, the
same desires, the same knowledge, we had before death. If these were
not sufficiently pure and good to form a part of this life, then we
ourselves may not enter. What would be the use of our ofttimes long
lives, given to the pursuit of certain worthy and legitimate knowledge,
if at death it all counts as nothing, and we begin this life on a
wholly different line of thought and study? No, no; would that all
could understand, as I said before, that we are building for eternity
during our earthly life! The purer the thoughts, the nobler the
ambitions, the loftier the aspirations, the higher the rank we take
among the hosts of heaven; the more earnestly we follow the studies and
duties in our life of probation, the better fitted we shall be to carry
them forward, on and on to completion and perfection here."
"But the books--who writes them? Are any of them books we knew and
loved below?"
"Undoubtedly, many of them; all, indeed, that in any way helped to
elevate the human mind or immortal soul. Then, many of the rarest
minds in the earth-life, upon entering on this higher life, gain such
elevated and extended views of the subjects that have been with them
lifelong studies, that, pursuing them with zest, they write out for the
benefit of those less gifted, the higher, stronger views they have
themselves acquired, thus remaining leaders and teachers in this rarer
life, as they were while yet in the world. Is it to be expected that
the great soul who has so recently joined our ranks, whose 'Changed
Life' and 'Pax Vobiscum' uplifted so many lives while on earth, should
lay his pen aside when his clear brain and great heart have read the
mystery of the higher knowledge? Not so. When he has conned his
lessons well, he will write them out for the benefit of others, less
gifted, who must follow. Leaders there must always be, in this divine
life, as in the former life--leaders and teachers in many varied lines
of thought. But all this knowledge will come to you simply and
naturally as you grow into the new life."