Page images
PDF
EPUB

"the church-yard tree;" yet they were

seven still.

"How many are you, then,' said I,

'If they two are in Heaven ?' Quick was the little maid's reply, 'O master! we are seven !' 'But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in Heaven!'

"T was throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will,

And said, 'Nay, we are seven."

[ocr errors]

And she was right-there were as truly seven then as ever. Do we understand what our Lord meant, when he spoke of "receiving the kingdom of God as a little child?" Such a faith,-a faith which should see the departed living, which should feel no more doubt of their being alive, than of the existence of those who are constantly in sight, which in imagination should hold almost daily converse with them,-how it would purify, strengthen and elevate us! We should not be giving a full and

candid utterance to our own opinion and feelings on this momentous subject, were we not most unreservedly to state our conviction, that our own conduct with reference to those who have left, and those who are leaving, the present world, is frequently most inconsistent with our Christian profession, and most pernicious in its tendency. The common practical view among Christians, of sickness, what is it but that the greatest of all calamities has befallen us? An incurable disease, what a blight it casts on everything around, though mortality may be regarded as an incurable disease with us all! How few are there, who, when they visit a sufferer, do not depress, rather than encourage him! Instead of looking, and bidding him look, to the effect on his character, reminding him that not one pang is really endured in vain; instead of pointing towards heaven, bountiful, gentle heaven, whence all good, and whence nothing but good, proceeds, and talking of the bright

days coming, either here or in nobler spheres, we speak just as if there were nothing to care for but a prolongation of his years, and act just as if it were a thing too dreadful to think of, that he should be called away-to Paradise! And when

[ocr errors]

"One, and another, and another, comes to us with an earnest pressing upon us of the hope of relief,'-that talisman which looks so well till its virtues are tried! They tell us of renewed health and activity,—of what it will be to enjoy ease again, -to be useful again,-to shake off our troubles and be as we once were. We sigh, and say it may be so; but they see that we are neither roused nor soothed by it. Then one speaks differently,-tells us we shall never be better,-that we shall continue for long years as we are, or shall sink into deeper disease and death; adding, that pain and disturbance and death are indissolubly linked with the indestructible life of the soul, and supposing that we are willing to be conducted on in this eternal course by Him whose thoughts and ways are not as ours, -but whose tenderness... . . . . . . . Then how we burst in, and take up the word! What have we not to say from the abundance of our hearts,—of that benignity, that transcendent wisdom,—our willingness,- —our eagerness,―our sweet security,—

a fellow creature dies, so terrible would his fate seem, that we scarcely dare mention it, and accordingly henceforth we seldom allude to him; and when we do, we prefix that epithet of pity, poor,— designating him always our "poor brother,” as if God were no longer his Father, as if he were still, and would remain for ever, in the cold, lonely grave,—and not as if he were a companion of angels, admitted to the highest of all privileges, and exulting in boundless love, knowledge and freedom! When the late Dr. Follen was spoken to concerning death, his answer was—“ I am not going to die, I am going to live-life is before me, not death-life, never-ending life; what we call death is only one of the incidents of life. Death is the final revelation and confirmation of immortality." How truly Christian is this! and how Christian, too, "the words

till we are silenced by our unutterable joy?"—Life in the Sick Room, p. 174.

E

of a gifted lady, upon reading the obituary of Henry Ware, 'I see Henry Ware has passed on.' Passed on-beautiful thought! He has not stopped; he has not ceased to be; he has passed on in faith and duty and love to higher labours, and undefiled reward!" No wonder disease and death are so repulsive to the generality of mankind, when we shroud in gloom the prospects of those whose health is declining, and the memories of those who are gone. If they are actually removed to a state quite as real, only more bright and beautiful than any earthly clime; if they have nothing to fear along the dark valley of the shadow of death, because God lighteth and leadeth them; if Jesus and God, and the good of all ages, and all their own dearest friends, be with them now,-what reason can there be for preserving such a profound and awful silence about them? when a friend travels to the other side of the globe to end his days, we converse respecting him with

« PreviousContinue »