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.