She is not dead--the child of our affection--
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.
Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
--[Longfellow.
Hark! 'tis the voice of angels
Borne in a song to me,
Over the fields of glory,
Over the jasper sea!
--[W. H. Doane.
As time passed, and I grew more accustomed to the heavenly life around
me, I found its loveliness unfolded to me like the slow opening of a
rare flower. Delightful surprises met me at every turn. Now a dear
friend, from whom I had parted years ago in the earth-life, would come
unexpectedly upon me with cordial greeting; now one--perhaps on earth
greatly admired, but from whom I had held aloof, from the fear of
unwelcome intrusion--would approach me, showing the lovely soul so full
of responsive kindness and congenial thought, that I could but feel a
pang of regret for what I had lost. Then the clear revelation of some
truth, only partly understood in life, though eagerly sought for, would
stand out clear and strong before me, overwhelming me with its lustre,
and perhaps showing the close tie linking the earth-life with the
divine. But the most wonderful to me was the occasional meeting with
some one whom I had never hoped to meet "over there," who, with eager
handclasp and tearful eyes, would pour forth his earnest thanks for
some helpful word, some solemn warning, or even some stern rebuke, that
had turned him, all unknown to myself, from the paths of sin into the
"life everlasting." Oh, the joy to me of such a revelation! Oh, the
regret that my earth-life had not been more full of such work for
eternity!
My first impulse daily on arousing from happy, blissful rest, was to
hasten to the "river of life" and plunge into its wonderful waters, so
refreshing, so invigorating, so inspiring. With a heart full of
thanksgiving and lips full of joyful praise, morning after morning,
sometimes in company with my brother, sometimes alone, I hastened
thither, returning always full of new life and hope and purpose to our
home, where for a time each day I listened to the entrancing
revelations and instructions of my brother. One morning, soon after my
return from my first visit to earth, as I was on the way to the river,
my voice joined to the wonderful anthem of praise everywhere sounding,
I saw a lovely young girl approaching me swiftly, with outstretched
arms.
"Dear, dear Aunt Bertha!" she called, as she drew near, "do you not
know me?"
"My little Mae!" I cried, gathering the dainty creature into my arms.
"Where did you spring from so suddenly, dear? Let me look at you
again!" holding her a moment at arm's length, only to draw her again
tenderly to me.
"You have grown very beautiful, my child. I may say this to you here
without fear, I am sure. You were always lovely; you are simply
radiant now. Is it this divine life?"
"Yes," she said modestly and sweetly; "but most of all the being near
the Savior so much."
"Ah, yes, that is it--the being near Him! That will make any being
radiant and beautiful," I said.
"He is so good to me; so generous, so tender! He seems to forget how
little I have done to deserve his care."
"He knows you love him, dear heart; that means everything to him."
"Love him! Oh, if loving him deserves reward, I am sure I ought to
have every wish of my heart, for I love him a thousandfold better than
anything in earth or heaven. I would die for him!"
The sweet face grew surpassingly radiant and beautiful as she talked,
and I began to dimly understand the wonderful power of Christ among the
redeemed in heaven. This dear child, so lovely in all mortal graces,
so full of earth's keenest enjoyments during the whole of her brief
life--pure and good, as we count goodness below, yet seemingly too
absorbed in life's gayeties to think deeply of the things she yet in
her heart revered and honored, now in this blessed life counted the
privilege of loving Christ, of being near him, beyond every other joy!
And how that love refined and beautified the giver! As a great earthly
love always shines through the face and elevates the whole character of
the one who loves, so this divine love uplifts and glorifies the giver,
until not only the face but the entire person radiates the glory that
fills the heart.
"Come with me to the river, Mae," I said presently, after we had talked
together for some time; "come with me for a delightful plunge."
"Gladly," she said; "but have you ever been to the lake or the sea?"
"The lake or the sea?" I echoed. "No indeed. Are there a lake and sea
here?"
"Certainly there are," said Mae, with a little pardonable pride that
she should know more of the heavenly surroundings than I. "Shall we go
to the lake to-day, and leave the sea for another day? Which shall it
be?"
"Let it be the lake to-day," I said.
So, turning in an entirely different direction from the path that led
to the river, we walked joyously on, still talking as we went. So much
to ask, so much to recall, so much to look forward to with joy!
Once she turned to me and asked quickly:
"When is my Uncle Will coming?"
My hand closed tightly over hers, and a sob almost rose in my throat,
though I answered calmly:
"That is in God's hands alone; we may not question."
"Yes, I know. His will is always right; but I so long to see my dear
uncle again; and to 'long' is not to repine."
She had grown so womanly, so wise, this child of tender years, since we
parted, that it was a joy to talk with her. I told her of my sad
errand to earth, and the sorrow of the dear ones I had left.
"Yes, yes, I know it all!" she whispered, with her soft arms about me.
"But it will not be long to wait. They will come soon. It never seems
long to wait for anything here. There is always so much to keep one
busy; so many pleasant duties, so many joys--oh, it will not be long!"
Thus she cheered and comforted me as we walked through the ever-varying
and always perfect landscape. At length she cried, lifting her arm and
pointing with her rosy finger:
"Behold! Is it not divinely beautiful?"
I caught my breath, then stopped abruptly and covered my face with my
hands to shield my eyes from the glorified scene. No wonder my brother
had not sooner brought me to this place; I was scarcely yet spiritually
strong enough to look upon it. When I again slowly lifted my head, Mae
was standing like one entranced. The golden morning light rested upon
her face, and, mingling with the radiance that had birth within, almost
transfigured her. Even she, so long an inhabitant here, had not yet
grown accustomed to its glory.
"Look, darling auntie! It is God's will that you should see," she
softly whispered, not once turning her eyes away from the scene before
her. "He let me be the one to show you the glory of this place!"
I turned and looked, like one but half awakened. Before us spread a
lake as smooth as glass, but flooded with a golden glory caught from
the heavens, that made it like a sea of molten gold. The blossom- and
fruit-bearing trees grew down to its very border in many places, and
far, far away, across its shining waters, arose the domes and spires of
what seemed to be a mighty city. Many people were resting upon its
flowery banks, and on the surface of the water were boats of wonderful
structure, filled with happy souls, and propelled by an unseen power.
Little children, as well as grown persons, were floating upon or
swimming in the water; and as we looked a band of singing cherubs,
floating high overhead, drifted across the lake, their baby voices
borne to us where we stood, in notes of joyful praise.
"Come," said Mae, seizing my hand, "let us join them"; and we hastened
onward.
"Glory and honor!" sang the child voices. "Dominion and power!" caught
up and answered the voices of the vast multitude together, and in the
strain I found that Mae and I were joining. The cherub band floated
onward, and away in the distance we caught the faint melody of their
sweet voices, and the stronger cadence of the response from those
waiting below.
We stood upon the margin of the lake, and my cheeks were tear-bedewed
and my eyes dim with emotion. I felt weak as a little child; but oh,
what rapture, what joy unspeakable filled and overmastered me! Was I
dreaming? Or was this indeed but another phase of the immortal life?
Mae slipped her arm about my neck and whispered, "Dearest, come. After
the rapture--rest."
I yielded to her passively; I could not do otherwise. She led me into
the water, down, down into its crystal depths, and when it seemed to me
we must be hundreds of feet beneath the surface, she threw herself
prostrate and bade me do the same. I did so, and immediately we began
to slowly rise. Presently I found that we no longer rose, but were
slowly floating in mid-current, many feet still beneath the surface.
Then appeared to me a marvel. Look where I would, perfect prismatic
rays surrounded me. I seemed to be resting in the heart of a prism;
and such vivid yet delicate coloring, mortal eyes never rested upon.
Instead of the seven colors, as we see them here, the colors blended in
such rare graduation of shades as to make the rays seem almost
infinite, or they really were so; I could not decide which.
As I lay watching this marvelous panorama, for the colors deepened and
faded like the lights of the aurora borealis, I was attracted by the
sound of distant music. Although Mae and I no longer clung together,
we did not drift apart, as one would naturally suppose we might, but
lay within easy speaking-distance of each other, although few words
were spoken by either of us; the silence seemed too sacred to be
lightly broken. We lay upon, or rather within, the water, as upon the
softest couch. It required no effort whatever to keep ourselves
afloat; the gentle undulation of the waves soothed and rested us. When
the distant music arrested my attention, I turned and looked at Mae.
She smiled back at me, but did not speak. Presently I caught the
words, "Glory and honor, dominion and power," and I knew it was still
the cherub choir, although they must now be many miles distant. Then
the soft tones of a bell--a silver bell with silver tongue--fell on my
ear, and as the last notes died away, I whispered:
"Tell me, Mae."
"Yes, dear, I will. The waters of this lake catch the light in a most
marvelous manner, as you have seen; a wiser head than mine must tell
you why. They also transmit musical sounds--only musical sounds--for a
great distance. The song was evidently from the distant shore of the
lake."
"And the bell?"
"That is the bell which in the city across the lake calls to certain
duties at this hour."
"There never was a sweeter call to duty," I said.
"Yes, its notes are beautiful. Hark! now it rings a chime."
We lay and listened, and as we listened a sweet spell wrapped me round,
and I slept as peacefully as a child on its mother's bosom. I awoke
with a strange sense of invigoration and strength. It was a feeling
wholly dissimilar to that experienced during a bath in the river, yet I
could not explain how. Mae said:
"One takes away the last of the earth-life, and prepares us for the
life upon which we enter; the other fills us to overflowing with a
draught from the Celestial Life itself."
And I think the child was right.
When we emerged from the water we found the banks of the lake almost
deserted, every one having gone, at the call of the bell, to the happy
duties of the hour. Groups of children still played around in joyous
freedom. Some climbed the trees that overhung the water, with the
agility of squirrels, and dropped with happy shouts of laughter into
the lake, floating around upon its surface like immense and beautiful
water-lilies or lotus flowers.
"No fear of harm or danger; no dread of ill, or anxiety lest a mishap
occur; security, security and joy and peace! This is indeed the
blessed life," I said, as we stood watching the sports of the happy
children.
"I often think how we were taught to believe that heaven was where we
would wear crowns of gold and stand with harps always in our hands!
Our crowns of gold are the halos His blessed presence casts about us;
and we do not need harps to accentuate our songs of praise. We do see
the crowns, and we do hear the angelic harps, when and as God wills it,
but our best worship is to do his blessed will," said Mae as we turned
to go.
"You are wise in the lore of heaven, my child," I answered; "how happy
I am to learn from one so dear! Tell me all about your life here."
So as we walked she told me the history of her years in heaven her
duties, her joys, her friends, her home--with all the old-time freedom.
I found her home was distant from our own--far beyond the spires of the
great city across the lake--but she added:
"What is distance in heaven? We come and go at will. We feel no
fatigue, no haste, experience no delays; it is blessed, blessed!"
Not far from our home we saw a group of children playing upon the
grass, and in their midst was a beautiful great dog, over which they
were rolling and tumbling with the greatest freedom. As we approached
he broke away from them and came bounding to meet us, and crouched and
fawned at my very feet with every gesture of glad welcome.
"Do you not know him, auntie?" Mae asked brightly.
"It is dear old Sport!" I cried, stooping and placing my arms about his
neck, and resting my head on his silken hair. "Dear old fellow! How
happy I am to have you here!"
He responded to my caresses with every expression of delight, and Mae
laughed aloud at our mutual joy.
"I have often wondered if I should not some day find him here. He
surely deserves a happy life for his faithfulness and devotion in the
other life. His intelligence and his fidelity were far above those of
many human beings whom we count immortal."
======================================================================
[Illustration: "Hark! 'tis the voice of angels]
"Hark! 'tis the voice of angels
Born in a song to me,
Over the fields of glory,
Over the jasper sea!"]
======================================================================
"Did he not sacrifice his life for little Will?"
"Yes; he attempted to cross the track in front of an approaching train,
because he saw it would pass between him and his little master, and
feared he was in danger. It cost his life. He always placed himself
between any of us and threatened danger, but Will he seemed to consider
his especial charge. He was a gallant fellow--he deserves immortality.
Dear, dear old Sport, you shall never leave me again!" I said,
caressing him fondly.
At this he sprang to his feet, barking joyously, and gambolled and
frolicked before us the rest of the way home, then lay down upon the
doorstep, with an upward glance and a wag of his bushy tail, as though
to say, "See how I take you at your word!"
"He understands every word we say," said Mae.
"Of course he does; he only lacks speech to make him perfect. I
somehow hoped he might find it here."
"He would not be half so interesting if he could talk," said Mae.
"Possibly not. How silken and beautiful his long hair is!"
"He has his bath in the river every day, and it leaves its mark on him
also. Do you know I think one of the sweetest proofs we have of the
Father's loving care for us is, that we so often find in this life the
things which gave us great happiness below. The more unexpected this
is, the greater joy it brings. I remember once seeing a beautiful
little girl enter heaven, the very first to come of a large and
affectionate family. I afterward learned that the sorrowful cry of her
mother was, 'Oh, if only we had someone there to meet her, to care for
her!' She came, lovingly nestled in the Master's own arms, and a
little later, as he sat, still caressing and talking to her, a
remarkably fine Angora kitten, of which the child had been very fond,
and which had sickened and died some weeks before, to her great sorrow,
came running across the grass and sprang directly into her arms, where
it lay contentedly. Such a glad cry as she recognized her little
favorite, such a hugging and kissing as that kitten received, made joy
even in heaven! Who but our loving Father would have thought of such
comfort for a little child? She had evidently been a timid child; but
now as the children gathered about her, with the delightful freedom
they always manifest in the presence of the beloved Master, she,
looking up confidingly into the tender eyes above her, began to shyly
tell of the marvelous intelligence of her dumb pet, until at last Jesus
left her contentedly playing among the flowers with the little
companions who had gathered about her. Our Father never forgets us,
but provides pleasures and comforts for us all, according to our
individual needs."
"When shall I behold the Savior? When shall I meet, face to face, him
whom my soul so loveth?" my hungry heart began to cry out in its depths.
Mae, as though understanding the silent cry, placed both arms about my
neck, looked tenderly into my eyes, and whispered:
"You, too, dearest, will see him soon. He never delays when the time
is ripe for his coming. It will not be long; you, too, will see him
soon."
So we parted, each to the duties of the hour.