Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1878-08-28
Whispers Of Immortality.
BY NARGAREr 4. sASGsTER.

Often as we stand by the green graves oi
our kindred, or say farewell to some deal
friend who is going home before us, we are
comforted by the thought of immortality
Death touches only part, and that The least
important part of our being. The body
always changing its aspects, subject to pain
and nfrmity, and growing old only too fast
is touched by the peace of the last angel
and falls on sleep. The soul, which has
been active, trustful, earnest, responsive, and
| glowing with purpose is set free from all
hindrances and goes into another room of
the great universe, there to do Gods will
more fully and joyfully than when here.
This is our belief in theory. Practically,
we sometimes behave, especially when the
paralysis of fresh grief benumbs our fac
ulties, as though we possessed no such con-
soling creed. More than once, perhaps, when
dear eyes have been hidden from us under the
clay, we have felt like excaiming bitterly:
Communion In spirit Forgive me.
| But !, who am earthly and weak
Would give all my incomes from dreamand
For a touch Of her hand ON my cheek"
But this is not when our spiritual life is
at its best. Even in hours of deepest dark
ness, when we have been near God in prayer,
we have felt that to our Gethsemanes, too,
the angels come TO strengthen us. Better
Niidil uuSNl loutuiliS III tht tAbitillbN VI SUI
row has been the recognition in our homes
of the presence of Jesus al will not leave
you comfortless will come unto you," were
his gracious Words and he has fulfilled
them in our experience, over and over again.
There is a whisper of immortality which
comes to us sometimes when we compare
the things we build with the handbreath of
their earthly existence. We stand with
hushed and reverent awe in some great ca
thedral, poem in stone, with its turrets and
pinnacles lessening up into space, and its
windows, rainbow-colored, admitting the
light, softened and subdued in every tender
tint. Long years ago the patient hands of
architect and mason and engraver and artist
were folded in endless peace. Generations
have trodden the aisdes. But though in one
view the building seems mightier than the
builder, we are instantly aware of another,
which shows to us that they who rest from
their labors have gone to house not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens. Never
do the grand words of Paul come to us with
more tremendous emphasis than when we hear
them in such place. The closing sentences
of the eighth chapter of Romans, and the
whole ocean-swell of the saints burial SER
vice in Corinthians, fill us with a sense of
exultation. We are persuaded by the un-
answerable logic of necessity, and by the
swift assent of our affections, that these
precious utterances of the apostle are, and
will be, true for all time.
The pages of the poets are strewn thick
with the immortelles of Christian faith. "Up-
ward plumes her heavenward wings" each
soul that takes in the lofty aspiration of that
familiar hymn, which should never be
thoughtlessly sung, " Nearer, my God, to
thee" Gerald Massey, the half-inspired
English laborer, exclaimed in one of his
fiery lyrics;
Take heart the rude dust, dark to-day,
Soas, new-lghted sphere Tomorrow,
And wings OF spendOr burst the clay
That wraps us in deaths fruitful turrow."
An unknown Scotch poet stirs our long
ings with his quaint yearning for the COM
ing life.
"yehs guid word Of promise, that gadsome day the
To his ain royal palace his banshed hame will bring,
W. g ma sqa ID W. Si % hearts rampng @ Ing Ger we shall see
One of the loftiest of Mrs. Browning's
sonnets thus deprecates human discomfort :;
tins fair world OF Gods Had we no hope
Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope
OF yOn gray back Of sky, we might be faint
To muse upon eternity's consraint
Round our asprant souls. But since the scope
For Il few days consumed In loss and tant?
And, like cheerful traveller. take the road
Singing, beside the hedge What If the bread
lie bitter In thine inn. and thou unshod
10 meet the hnts? At least 1t may be said
Because the way is short, l thank thee, God"
Whittier, whose nature is saturated with
the tranqiity of trust, has written many Tyr
les which, like harp-strings, swept by every
passing breeze, send forth sweet melody
lie who says so simply,
apart from thee all gain il loss,
All labor vainly done.
The solemn shadow OF thy cross
Is better than the SUM-"
has put on record often his waiting for a
future in the land whereof the Lamb is the
light, and his expectation of meeting many
dear friends there.
There is bit of verse entitled Over the
River" which is favorite with many be-
cause it touches our lives so nearly One
stanza concludes
:" shall know the loved who have gone before,
And joyfnlly sweet will the meeting be-
When over the river the peaceful river,
The Angel Of Death shall carry me-"
We like this, aud we like the Sweet
By-and.By," and other hymns of heaven,
because they contain whispers of immortal
ity, because they are only notes by the way
on the declaration of our Lord. ain my
Fathers house are many mansions; if il
were not so, | would have told you. go to
prepare place for you"