But, I observe, in the second place, that there are those who may discard the notion of retaining any particular condition of life and yet they would preserve unbroken some of its relations.They may not keep the freshness of youth, or prevent the intrusion of trouble, or shut out the claims of responsibility, or the demands for effort; --they may not achieve anything of this kind; and they do not wish to achieve it; but they would build a tabernacle to LOVE, and keep the objects of dear affection safe within its enclosure.
"Joy, sorrow, poverty, riches, youth, decay, let these come as they must," say they, "in the flow of Providence; but let the heart's sanctuaries remain unbroken, and let us in all this chance find the presence and the ministration of those we love." And, common as the sight is, we must always contemplate with a fresh sadness this sundering of family bonds; this cancelling(sic) of the dear realities of home; this stealing in of the inevitable gloom; this vacating of the chair, the table, and the bed; this vanishing of the familiar face into darkness; this passage from communion to memory;this diminishing of love's orb into narrower phases, --into a crescent, --into a shadow.Surely, however broad the view we take of the universe, a real woe, a veritable experience of suffering, amidst this boundless benificence, reaching as deep as the heart's core, is this old and common sorrow; --the sorrow of woman for her babes, and of man for his helpmate, and of age for its prop, and of the son for the mother that bore him, and of the heart for the hearts that once beat in sympathy, and of the eyes that hide vacancies with tears.When these old stakes are wrenched from their sockets, and these intimate cords are snapped, one begins to feel his own tent shake and flap in the wind that comes from eternity, and to realize that there is no abiding tabernacle here.
But ought we really to wish that these relations might remain unbroken, and to murmur because it is not so? We shall be able to answer this question in the negative, I think, --however hard it may be to do so, -- when we consider, in the first place, that this breaking up and separation are inevitable.For we may be assured that whatever in the system of things is inevitable is beneficent.The dissolution of these bonds comes by the same law as that which ordains them; and we may be sure that the one --though it plays out of sight, and is swallowed up in mystery --is as wise and tender in its purpose as the other.It is very consoling to recognize the Hand that gave in the Hand that takes a friend, and to know that he is borne away in the bosom of Infinite Gentleness, as he was brought here.It is the privilege of angels, and of a faith that brings us near the angels, to always behold the face of our Father in Heaven; and so we shall not desire the abrogation of this law of dissolution and separation.We shall strengthen ourselves to contemplate the fact that the countenances we love must change, and the ties that are closest to our hearts will break; and we shall feel that it ought to be, because it must be, -- because it is an inevitability in that grand and bounteous scheme in which stars rise and set, and life and death play into each other.
But, even within the circle of our own knowledge, there is that which may reconcile us to these separations,.and prevent the vain wish of building perpetual tabernacles for our human love.For who is prepared, at any time, to say that it was not better for the dear friend, and better for ourselves, that he should go, rather than stay; --better for the infant to die with flowers upon its breast, than to live and have thorns in its heart; --better to kiss the innocent lips that are still and cold, than to see the living lips that are scorched with guilty passion; --better to take our last look of a face while it is pleasant to remember--serene with thought, and faith, and many charities --than to see it toss in prolonged agony, and grow hideous with the wreck of intellect? And, as spiritual beings, placed here not to be gratified, but to be trained, surely we know that often it is the drawing up of these earthly ties that draws up our souls;that a great bereavement breaks the crust of our mere animal consciousness, and inaugurates a spiritual faith; and we are baptized into eternal life through the cloud and the shadow of death.
But, once more, I remark, that there are those who may say, "We do not ask for any permanence in the conditions of life;we do not ask that even its dearest relationships should be retained; but give, 0! give us ever those highest brightest moods of faith and of truth, which constitute the glory of religion, and lift us above the conflict and the sin of the world! No truly religious mind can fail to perceive the gravitation of its thoughts and desires, and the contrast between its usual level and its best moments of contemplation and prayer.And it.may indeed seem well to desire the prolongation of these experiences; to desire to live ever in that unworldly radiance, close to the canopy of God, --in company with the great and the holy, --in company with the apostles and with Jesus, --on some Mount of Transfiguration, in garments whiter than snow, and with faces bright as the sun; and the hard, bad, trying world far distant and far below.Does not the man of spiritual sensitiveness envy those sainted ones who have grown apart, in pure clusters, away above the sinful world, blossoming and breathing fragrance on the very slopes of heaven?
