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 paeans 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."