is
happiness while "absent from the body?" What the scenery of that bright
abode? Had he mingled in the goodly fellowship of prophets? Had he
conversed with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob? Was his spirit
stationary--hovering with a brotherhood of spirits within some holy
limit--or, was he permitted to travel far and near in errands of love
and mercy? Had Bethany been revisited during that mysterious interval?
Had he been the unseen witness of the tears and groans of his anguished
sisters?

But hush, too, these vain inquiries. We dare not give rein to
imagination where Inspiration is silent. There is a designed mystery
about the circumstantials of a future state. Its scenery and locality we
know nothing of. It is revealed to us only in its _character_. We are
permitted to approach its gates, and to read the surmounting
inscription,--"Without _holiness_ no man shall see the Lord." Further we
cannot go. Be it ours, like Lazarus, to attain a meetness for heaven, by
becoming more and more like Lazarus' Redeemer! "_We shall be_ LIKE HIM,"
is the brief but comprehensive Bible description of that glorious world.
Saviour-like _here_, we shall have heaven begun on earth, and lying down
like Lazarus in the sweet sleep of death, when our Lord comes, on the
great day-dawn of immortality, we shall be satisfied when we awake in
_His likeness_!

"He that was dead rose up and spoke--He spoke!
Was it of that majestic world unknown?
Those words which first the bier's dread silence broke--
Came they with revelation in each tone?
Were the far cities of the nations gone,
The solemn halls of consciousness or sleep,
For man uncurtain'd by that spirit lone,
Back from the portal summon'd o'er the deep?
Be hush'd, my soul! the veil of darkness lay
Still drawn; therefore thy Lord called back the voice departed,
To spread His truth, to comfort the weak-hearted;
Not to reveal the mysteries of its way.
Oh! I take that lesson home in silent faith;
Put on submissive strength to _meet_, not _question_ DEATH."

XVII.

THE BOX OF OINTMENT.

Once more we visit in thought a peaceful and happy home-scene in the
same Bethany household. The severed links in that broken chain are again
united.

How often in a time of severe bereavement, when some "light of the
dwelling" has suddenly been extinguished, does the imagination fondly
dwell on the possibility of th