CONCLUSION
THE setting sun shone through the windows of Forest Lodge, and rested
lovingly upon Corrie Campbell lying on her couch. It was Sunday evening
in early spring, and she had been quietly thinking as she watched the
bright gleams dancing on the wall.
Some long years had passed since she quitted the dark street for her
bright home in the country. That time was a new starting-point in her
shaded and uneventful life; and though suffering had formed part of
the daily training in the growth of years, much fruit had abounded to
the glory of God. The doctor was right. She could never get well; yet
her life was a constant lesson of quiet patience to her young friends
at the big house, to whom she grew dearer each year, as in continual
self-forgetfulness, they ministered to her wants and pleasures.
Old Jonathan was sitting by the fireside thinking too, and it was
evident that time had not stood still with him either. His silver locks
were few now upon his furrowed brow, and the wrinkled hand that grasped
his stick shook visibly as he leant upon it. It seemed but the other
day he had given his welcome to the new tenants; he often wondered now
how he ever got on without them. Their coming wrought a marvellous
change in his lonely life, and had been the cheer and comfort of his
failing years.
His kind master saw the shadows of age and infirmity creeping over the
faithful old servant, and made due provision for it. How tenderly was
he nursed and cared for through long months of illness, which entirely
robbed him of his strength! Gradually they coaxed him in to spend the
greater part of his days by their cheerful fireside; and the plea that
Corrie wanted him was always sufficient. He would come in and out to
bring her woodland treasures, or to lay a freshly-gathered flower
beside her. He always found out exactly what she was longing for, and
if possible gratified the wish.
As Robin grew into manhood and became more competent for his work, so
surely did he see his dear old friend and teacher decline in strength
with the advancing years. No one liked to admit the fact; but at last
it became evident to all that the aged gardener was quite past work,
and could only walk about the garden paths leaning heavily on his
knotted stick, while younger hands succeeded to his labour.
Yet both Jonathan and Corrie had work to do for the heavenly King, and
their lives were a study to the thoughtful heart. They both laboured,
but it was passive labour, for they had learned that:
"They also serve who only stand and wait."
"This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the
Son of God might be glorified thereby," was what Corrie's life said to
all who watched it; and on that day when all things are manifested, it
will be found that more true service has been wrought on sick-beds than
on earth's battle-fields.
"The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree; he shall grow like a
cedar in Lebanon. Those that be planted in the house of the Lord shall
flourish in the courts of our God; they shall still bring forth fruit
in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing; to show that the Lord
is upright." That was Jonathan's work now, for he was old and well
stricken in years.
On this Sunday night he had been talking to Carrie about heaven; and as
he paused to take another look at the glowing sky and calm woods, light
footsteps were heard approaching the cottage.
"We are come for our Sunday talk," cried Clarice and Milly. "Have you
something nice for us this evening?"
"Yes, my dear young ladies; God's lessons are in everything we see upon
His beautiful earth. I was thinking what the Bible tells us about a
garden. It begins with the beautiful garden of Eden. Read it, dear Miss
Clarice, will you?"
So Clarice read, "'And the Lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden;
and there He put the man whom He had formed. And out of the ground made
the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good
for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the
tree of knowledge of good and evil. And a river went out of Eden to
water the garden.'"
"Ah! How fresh and beautiful it must have been then," murmured
Jonathan, "before sin came in to spoil it all! And how glad we should
be that God is going to make it all fair again some day! Turn now to
the last book in the Bible, and see what the garden will be like when
Jesus comes again and takes His people to live with him."
"Here it is!" said Milly. "Let me read it."
"'And He showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal,
proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of
the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree
of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit
every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the
nations. And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and
of the Lamb shall be in it; and His servants shall serve Him: and they
shall see His face; and His name shall be in their foreheads. And there
shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the
sun; for the Lord God giveth them light; and they shall reign for ever
and ever.'"
"'No more curse,'" said old Jonathan with emphasis. "Oh, how lovely
that garden will be! I sometimes fancy I can see it all. The tree of
life will be growing there again in everlasting beauty. That river will
never run dry. How I long to be there! We may be very near it now. Our
Master will perhaps call us soon into the upper garden of the King.
Some people talk about the dark and gloomy grave; but the Saviour has
not left us without comfort about that. He Himself lay down to sleep in
a garden; a pleasant place, enclosed, and carefully watched and tended.
"The grave is a sweet fragrant place, since Jesus rested in it. If we
belong to Him, whether waking or sleeping, we are still the plants
of God's care; and each flower He knows by name. And when our Lord
Jesus comes down into His garden to gather lilies, He takes one and
another, to put them into the shelter of His pierced hand. It is not
death to lie there, dears. Ah, no! It is the gate of glory leading into
everlasting life.
"'My Beloved is mine, and I am His. He feedeth among the lilies, until
the day break and the shadows flee away.'"
"I have brought you a branch from your favourite almond tree,"
whispered Clarice, putting the fragrant blossoms into the wrinkled
hand. "Can you see it, dear old Jonathan?"
"Yes, my dear young lady, yes. How good of you! I have not been up
to that corner of the garden for a long time. Ah!" said he, half
to himself, yet aloud. "'The almond tree shall flourish, and the
grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail; because man goeth
to his long home.' Yes, it is a long home, because when once inside it,
we shall stay there always, and go no more out.
"'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my
life,'—that is the promise for earth; 'and I will dwell in the house of
the Lord for ever,'—that is the promise for heaven."
"Papa told us, Jonathan, that the word almond in Hebrew means 'to
waken,' because it is the first tree to wake up out of its winter
sleep."
A glad smile of surprise overspread the face of the aged man when he
heard this; and, looking up, he said—
"The first to wake? Yes, that is it. 'I sleep, but my heart waketh;
it is the voice of my Beloved.' 'The Lord Himself shall descend from
heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the
trump of God, and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Blessed and holy
is he that hath part in the first resurrection.'"
Was it the setting sun that cast such a bright light on the aged
features as these words fell from his lips?
Clarice and Milly felt a strange awe as they watched him, and at last
rose to wish him an affectionate good-night.
They never forgot that Sunday evening, for it was their last with him.
On the page where lay the locks of hair and the rosemary, the silver
spectacles were found. Old Jonathan did not need them more, for his
eyes were no longer dim. He had gone to the land where—
"Everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers."
The good old man was long and sincerely mourned by those who had proved
his faithful friendship, and by the children who had loved to win his
smile and blessing.
The family at Oaklands, with Mrs. Campbell and Robin, followed him to
the quiet corner in God's garden where he was laid to sleep.
The little ones of the hamlet often strayed to the spot, and played
with the daisies on his grave. He had loved them in his lifetime, so
they naturally lingered near him now; and his white tombstone was a
favourite primer, as they slowly spelt out the words underneath his
honoured name:
"Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may have right
to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city."
THE END
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