The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1888-02-18

away beyond the realm of the present
to some incoming day in the future,
when athwart the sky the rainbow APP
pears, and assures of tomorrow bright
with sunshine. A time unclouded with
sorrow, and vision undimmed by our
tears.
AS the rainbow in summer has ap-
peared, l have been reminded Of that
old superstition once commonly taught
that at it's end one might find kettle
of gold. Too much has the past, and
the present not wholly free, visioned
its heaven, its joys, its victories and
its eternal glores afar off-a kingdom
largely out Of sight.
l never fully endorsed the old house
hold song taught me when a child:
"There is happy land
Far, far away;
Where saints in glory stand
Bright, bright as day.
or that other familiar hymn which in
childhood used to sing:
81 want to be an angel
And with the angels stand;
A crown upon my forehead,
A harp within my hand;''
for they create for me thoughts that
seem to rob the present and make the
happy land and saintship away beyond
the glory needed for to-day-the Eter-
nal Now.
But if hope did not somehow spring
up eternally in the human breast, would
not humanity despond? See how it
sings in verse and makes holy psalm
of its prose, of that rainbow land, where
love will ever have its own, where tears,
paintings and death are not known.
This instant the civilized millions in
anticipation are faced that way in their
loves, prayers and expectations; wait
ing for heavens sunshine to break
through the cloud and light up forever
what now seems like a darkened sky.
One human being writes for another
these words of comfort, and they pic
ture the joys of rainbow land:
'Ohl friend of that beautiful summer,
That summer beside the sea,
Oh! gentle and sorrowing mother
My heart is aching for thee.
Yet my lips are yearning to whisper
OF God and his blessed Son,
Who are keeping thy babe in heaven
Till thy earthly work is DONE"
And a mother, whose heart was grieved,
and whose eyes were often filed with
tears penned these words, as the hope
angel still abiding in her soul:
$50 1 counted up my treasures,
Counted again and again,
And with trembling lips each time said,
Softly and sadly-AMEN.
And yet do stop and wonder
If shall know them above,
And who will be first to greet me
In that land of light and love-
Some one wrote in an album, "Build
no castles in the air." yet that strenu-
ously adopted and followed would
smother human fancy, and take much
of the beauty of religion and Christian
faith from mankind. 1t would take
from ideality much of its charm, from
art its angel vision. Poetry and prose
would be uninviting and prosy, indeed.
All these would lack in soul, and SEEM
ingly have within them no pulsations
of the holy in spirit.
A large, hopeful human heart must
build some castles in the air; and there
is some joy in blowing bubbles, even to
see them rise and burst above the head.
Some of our castles loom up in the sky
touched with glory as the sunlight
breaks down upon them, though the
wind soon scatters them, and the clouds
tumble and seemingly disappear.
Some one, know not who, has said:
"Hope is not simple foresight; neither
is it simple expectation; because the
foresight may be of evil, and the ex-
pectation may be of mischief"
Yet hope always cheers and comforts.
1t confines itself to that which is most
desired. We never hope for misery;
we never hope for mistakes we never
hope for pain; but we hope for victory;
we hope for coronation; we hope for
love and joy; we hope for what is large
and eminent; we hope for what is bet
ter, hOlier, divine and supreme.
In some way the rainbow land is the
outlook of humanity. 1t is the pros
pective Of the world. And if immor-
tally cannot be absolutely proven by
nature, science or the Bible, as some
claim, it has somehow such hold upon
us that we cannot uproot its hopes,
visions, victories and glories from the
hearts and minds of men.
In the rainbow land we feel, think
and believe that the silver cords severed
here will be reunited; that the golden
bowl broken will be restored never to
be dashed into fragments again; that
the pitcher at the fountain will never
be shattered, nor the wheel at the els
tern get out of use. No mOurners 90
about its streets, for all sorrows there
will be soothed, and all tears wiped
away. No more death, no more pain,
no more disappOintments and heart