The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1879-08-27
OUR FRIENDS IN HEAVEN.
BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

Summer Is coming to lis once more,
with its flowers and its grass, and It's
waving trees and naturally in our
gladness our hearts turn TO our friends,
scattered. driven hither and thither over
lifes prairie How few can we draw to
our side how few surround us in our
walks, and gather in our home circle I!
Yet we think of them in their dispersion,
and We send them letter or token, and
receive from them from atar greeting
and token in reply. But we have
friends to whom we can send no word,
no token. We are certain that we still
have these friends. We call them ours );
and though the places that once knew
them, now know them no more though
their names are etfaced from the roll of
living names. vet we call them still our
own. Amid our summer wreaths and
JOYOUS garlands, let there be one to our
friends in heaven Are we not richer
for their being there Are we not made
nearer to heaven by thinking of them
there? They have known US so init
matelv they have known our history,
our individualities, our sOul-wants, our
aspirations, our trials. We have wan
dered with them hand in hand through
the tangled wood of life. We have lost
our way together. We have hungered
and thirsted together and looked out
with weary and perplexed star-gazing,
now trying this path and now that and
we have rejoiced together when our way
has been made plain before US. We
have seen them wrestle and strive with
life, as we still must. We have seen
their heart fail, and their hand fall
slack, as ours, full oft, may do. We
have seen them bear the wrench and
strain, the cruel agony which life forces
| inexorably on all, in one or other of its
phases and last of all, we have seen
them at the river of death. We have
seen the heaven opening, and the
angels descending, and as they rose they
were TRANSPORTED, and became as the
sons Of God.
1t is strange what is wrought in one
| hour by death. The moment our friend
is gone from us forever, what saeredness
invests him Everything he ever said
or did seems to return to us clothed in
new significance A thousand warnings
rise of things we would fain say to him
of questions unanswered, and now un-
answerable All he wore, or touched,
or looked upon Familiarity, become sa~
cred as relics. Yesterday these were
homely articles, to be tossed to and fro,
handled lightly, given away thoughtless-
": to-day we touch them softly, our
tears drop on them death has laid |
his hand on them; and they have be-
come holy in our eyes. Those are sad |
hours when one has passed from our
doors never to return, and we go back |
to set the place in order. There the
room so familiar, the homely belongings |
of their daily life-each one seems to |
say to us, in its turn, " Neither shall |
their place know them any more"
All why does this bring secret pang
with it, when we know they are where
none shall any more say, * am sick !"
Could only one fiutter Of their immortal |
garments be visible in such moments
could their face, glorious with the light |
of heaven, once smile on the deserted |
room, it might be better. One needs to
lose friends, to understand ones self tru-
". The death of friend teaches things
within that we never knew before We
may have expected it, prepared for it, it
may have been hourly expected for weeks,
vet when it comes, it falls on us sudden
", and reveals in us emotions We could
not dream. The opening of those heav-
enly gates for them startles and hutters
our souls with strange, mysterious thrills
unfelt before. The glimpse of glories,
the sweep of voices, all startle and daz-
zle us, and the soul for many day aches
and longs with untold longings.
We divide among ourselves the pos
sessions of our loved ones. Each we'll
known thing comes to us with an almost
supernatural power. The book We once
read with them, the old Bible, the famil-
lar hymn; then, perhaps, little pet arti-
cles Of fancy, made dear to them by
some peculiar taste, the picture, the vase
how costly are they now in our eyes
We value them not for their beauty or
worth, but for the frequency with which
we have seen them touched or used by
them; and cur eye runs over the collec
ton, and perhaps lights most lovingly
on the homeliest thing which may have
been oftenest touched or worn by them.
But there are invisible relics of our
lost ones more precious than the book,
the picture, or the vase. Let us treas
ure them in our hearts. Let us bind to
our hearts the patience which they will
never need again the fortitude in suf-
fering which belonged only to this suf-
fering state. Let US take from their
diving hand that submission under Attic
ton which they shall need no more in
world where affliction is unknown. Let
us collect in our thoughts all those cheer
full and hopeful sayings which they
threw out from time to time, as they
walked with us, and string them as
70 he HofIr- aO,,.&a1 ~ |
us test our own daily life by what must
they once walked with us on earth, let
us walk with them in heaven.
We may learn at the grave of our
lost ones how to live with the living.
1t is fearful thing to live so carelessly
as we often do with those dearest to US,
who may at any moment be gone for
ever. The life we are living, the words
We are now saying, will all be lived over
in memory over some future grave. If |
we would know how to measure our |
words to living friends, let us see how
we feel towards the dead. Let US walk !
softly; let US forbear and love; none /
ever repented of too much love to a de-
parted friend none ever regretted too
much tenderness and indulgence; but
MANY a tear has been she'd for too much I
harshness and severity. Let our friends |
in heaven, then, teach US how to treat 8
our friends on earth; thus, by no vain
fruitless sorrow, but by a deeper self t
tenderer and more sacred
of life, may our heavenly friends /
prove to us ministering spirits. a
The Apostle Paul says to the Chris '
tan, :" All things are yours-life and t
leath." Let US not lose either; let us I
make Death our own, in q richer, deeper, s
md more solemn earnestness of life. t
30 those souls which have gone from
our ark, and seemed lost over the ocean