t punishment?

Oh wait, sorrowing parents! wait, foolish friends! One is even now on
His glorious way who shall with a word unravel the mystery, ease your
troubled hearts, quell each rebellious motion, till ye only sorrow that
ever a disloyal thought of the God of Love and Light has been
permitted; and, whilst overwhelming you with blessing, answer every
question your hearts--nay, even your intelligences--could ask.

Oh wait, my beloved readers, wait! We, too, look on a world still all
in confusion. Nay, ourselves suffer with many an afflictive stroke,
whose cause, too, seems hidden from us, and to contradict the very
character of the God we know. One only is worthy to unlock this, as
every other, sealed book--wait! He must make Himself known; _and,
apart from things being wrong, this were impossible_. "The works of
God must be made manifest." Precious thought! Blessed words!
Sightless eyes are allowed for a little season, that He--God--may
manifest _His_ work in giving them light--accompanied by an everlasting
light that knows no dimming. Tears may fall in time, that God's gentle
and tender touch may dry them, and that for ever and ever. Nay, Death
himself, with all his awful powers shall be made to serve the same end,
and, a captive foe, be compelled to utter forth His glory. Lazarus is
suffering, and the sisters are torn with anxiety; but the Lord abides
"two days still in the same place where he" is. Death is allowed to
have his way for a little space--nay, grasp his victim, and shadow with
his dark wing the home that Jesus loves; and still He moves not.
Strange, mysterious patience! Does He not care? Is He calmly
indifferent to the anguish in that far-off cottage? Has He forgotten
to be gracious? or, most agonizing question of all, Has some inmate of
that home sinned, and chilled thus His love? How questions throng at
such a time! But--patience! All shall be answered, every question
settled--every one; and the glorious end shall fully, perfectly justify
His "waiting."

Let Death have his way. The power and dignity of his Conqueror will
not permit Him to hasten. For haste would bespeak anxiety as to the
result; and that result is in no sense doubtful. The body of the
brother shall even see corruption, and begin to crumble into dust,
under the firm and crushing hand of Death. Many a tear shall the
sisters shed, and poor human sympathy tell out its helplessness. But
the Victor comes! In the