Oliver Wendell Holmes says: "Our brains are seventy year clocks. The
angel of life winds them up once for all, closes the case, and gives the
key into the hand of the resurrection angel." And when I read it I
thought, what a stupendous task awaits the angel of the resurrection,
when all the countless millions of old rickety, rusty, worm-eaten clocks
are to be resurrected, and wiped, and dusted, and repaired, for mansions
in the skies! There will be every kind and character of clock and
clockwork resurrected on that day. There will be the Catholic clock with
his beads, and the Episcopalian clock with his ritual. There will be
an old clock resurrected on that day wearing a broadcloth coat buttoned
up to the throat; and when he is wound up he will go off with a whizz
and a bang. He will get up out of the dust shouting, "hallelujah!" and
he will proclaim "_sanctification!_" and "_falling from grace!_" and
"_baptism by sprinkling and pouring!_" as the only true doctrine by
which men shall go sweeping through the pearly gate, into the new
Jerusalem. And he will be recognized as a Methodist preacher, a little
noisy, a little clogged with chicken feathers, but ripe for the Kingdom
of Heaven.
There will be another old clock resurrected on that day, dressed
like the former, but a little stiffer and straighter in the back,
and armed with a pair of gold spectacles and a manuscript. When he is
wound up he will break out in a cold sepulchral tone with, firstly:
"_foreordination!_" secondly: "_predestination!_" and thirdly: "_the
final perseverance of the saints!_" And he will be recognized as a
Presbyterian preacher, a little blue and frigid, a little dry and
formal, but one of God's own elect, and he will be labeled for Paradise.
There will be an old Hard-shell clock resurrected, with throat whiskers,
and wearing a shad-bellied coat and flap breeches. And when he is wound
up a little, and a little oil is squirted into his old wheels, he will
swing out into space on the wings of the gospel with: "My Dear Beloved
Brethren-ah: I was a-ridin' along this mornin' a-tryin' to study up
somethin' to preach to this dying congregation-ah; and as I rid up by
the old mill pond-ah lo and behold! there was an old snag a sticking
up out of the middle of the pond-ah, and an old mud turtle had clim
up out uv the water and was a settin' up on the old snag a sunnin' uv
himself-ah; and lo! and behold-ah! when I rid up a leetle nearer to
him-ah, he jumped off of the snag, 'ker chugg' into the water, thereby
proving emersion-ah!"
Our brains _are_ clocks, and our hearts are the pendulums. If we live
right in this world, when the Resurrection Day shall come, the Lord God
will polish the wheels, and jewel the bearings, and crown the casements
with stars and with gold. And the pendulums shall be harps encrusted
with precious stones. They shall swing to and fro on angel wings, making
music in the ear of God, and flashing His glory through all the blissful
cycles of eternity!