"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!