beauty of the Lord and to
inquire in His temple, for in the time of trouble He shall hide me in
His pavilion. The Christian is secure at death; he has a building of
God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the Heavens."

Here we have a continual conflict; but yonder we are made more than
conquerors through Him who loved us. Here we are sinful and
short-sighted; but yonder we shall partake of His perfect holiness and
inexhaustible love and Divine penetration in the Heavenly Kingdom. Yes
to die is infinite gain.

The spiritual enjoyment of the soul in the land of light is
indescribable. "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered
into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that
love Him." Yonder you shall behold the glory of God in the face of
Jesus Christ.

You know this was a portion of the parting prayer of Jesus for His
disciples. He said: "Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast
given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory." There
is but a step between us and it. There is but a thin veil that parts us
from the beatic vision of the blest.

I once entered the beautiful harbor of Cronstadt, in Russia, and I
distinctly remember that the entrance was so narrow and land-locked,
that we could scarcely discern its precise location until we had
suddenly entered it. The passage from earth to Heaven is not unlike the
ending of the voyage of a ship, even although many of them reach the
harbor in a dismantled condition. Many a storm has been encountered,
and while sails have been torn to shreds, yet the gallant bark has
outweathered the gale and has escaped rocks, and quicksands, and
whirlpools of destruction. But now the gale is hushed forever, the
sails are all furled, the anchor is cast out, and she rides securely in
the harbor where storms cannot affright. Glorious port of peace! Oh,
blessed and triumphant entry! To go no more out forever; where the Lamb
which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them and lead them unto
living fountains of water, and God Himself shall wipe away all tears
from their eyes.

Beautiful valley of Eden,
Sweet is thy noon-tide calm,
Over the hearts of the weary,
Breathing thy waves of balm.
Home of the pure and blest;
How often amid the wild billows,
I dream of thy rest, sweet rest.

It was the glimpse of this rest beyond the river that lit up the pale
cheek of our dear, dying sister, wi