Reflections and Soliloquies.
By H.-I. Farnum
The bright mornings of summer long since exchanged their pearly dewdrops for withering frosts. Nature laid aside her verdure and the gorgeous autumn came, but alas! its splendors pass to decay and nothingness. And now the face of nature—of late so fair—is robed in winter's shroud, concealing the last lingering traces of former life and beauty. Shall these scenes constantly pass and repass before thee, and thou glean therefrom no lesson concerning thyself? Go to yonder burial place and meditate. Canst thou there discover the slightest trace of those for whom those graves were hollowed out? Weep if thou wilt; thy tears are answering, Nay. Yet they were thy fellow-men, thy friends, thy brothers. Only a brief period has elapsed since they lived as thou art living. They too delighted in the verdant springtime, and when the sweet summer decked the earth with beauty they felt, perhaps, as dost thou betimes, that it was happiness to tread the green earth, drink in the free air of heaven, and look up to the blue sky. They also loved the glorious autumn, and when the chilling days of winter were waning, watched and waited for the returning birds and flowers. Alas! it was then, that one of these sleepers, thy brother, turned away and sought his chamber to lie down and die. One who had watched for spring's returning, listened no more for its early warblers, and the first spring blossoms were laid upon his grave. “Another green hillock in summer
Received the baptism of dew,
And down in the dust of the valley
He rests with the tender and true.”
Thus, perhaps, will it soon be with thee; at any moment you may drop out from the living throng of humanity. The pure stars will shed their radiance as softly then as though agony and death were things unknown. The world will not notice the departure of one insignificant being. A few will turn aside to cover thee; their hearts, perhaps, will be saddened for a little season, and then forgetfulness with healing wing will sit between them and the form they covered. “Ah! so frail are we,
So like the brief ephemeron that wheels
Its momentary round. We scarce can weep
Our own bereavements, ere we haste to share
The clay with those we mourn. A narrow point
Divides our grief sob from the pang of death.
Down to the moldering multitude we go,
And all our anxious thoughts, our fervid hopes,
The sorrowing burdens of our pilgrimage
In deep oblivion rest.”
Ah! was it ever thus with our world and the dwellers therein? Nay, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy, the earth was pure and bright, but we now behold only the faintest footprints. Death and decay were strangers, and the breeze had never whispered, “passing away.” But alas! sin entered and death followed in its wake. For six thousand years they have cursed a world that came from the hand of its Creator without blemish. As long ages of disobedience, suffering, and death have passed into silence, the curse has increased. Now earth's fragile inhabitants sport in the sunshine, or wearily toil for a little while, and then, like summer's beauty or autumn's splendor, wither and pass away. Alas! if this were all and naught beyond, life would be a rayless, cheerless thing. But long ago, when angels first bowed their heads and wept, because the blight of sin had touched a world so good and beautiful, then the plan of salvation was laid. He who knew no sin, the Son of God, proposed to leave his glory in Heaven, and come down to a world in rebellion; yea more, to give his life, to ransom it from the curse. He came, trod this earth, and surely he bore our sorrows and became acquainted with our infirmities. He, too, wept at the grave of his friend. At length, that for which he came was accomplished. He yielded up his own life on Calvary's mountain for the sins of men. He passed into the tomb, burst the bands of death, and ascended on high. In the heavenly sanctuary he has stood for eighteen hundred years pleading his own blood for a guilty world. Hear his gracious offers, “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.” “Ho! every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.” “And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.” Thus our Great High Priest has long interceded for us; but the final work is now in session. Mercy lingers, but not always will the plan of salvation remain incomplete. Soon the judgment work will close, then He, who was despised and rejected of men, wounded for our transgressions, and bruised for our iniquities, will come again, not as at first, oppressed and afflicted, but in majesty, to receive his kingdom, destroy those who know him not, and gather his jewels. Then will the sleepers come from their low graves, not as they were laid there, ah! no; the features that then bore traces of suffering will wear a fadeless smile, and immortal beauty sit where sorrow and care were wont to fling their shadows. The crowns laid up for those who “love his appearing” will then be placed upon brows forever free from aching. The mansions that Jesus went away to prepare will be tenanted by those whom his blood has washed. When earth's long night of desolation is completed; when sin and its author, with the wicked and their works, have become as though they had not been; when earth blossoms again in more than primeval loveliness; when all traces of disobedience and the consequent curse are removed; when rebellion, sorrow, and death are forever blotted out; then will the plan of salvation have reached its accomplishment; then will it appear what the blood of Christ has purchased; then will the redeemed return singing, and, with everlasting joy upon their heads, inhabit a ransomed world, and prove through eternal years the untold depths of a Saviour's love. “Then weep not for the joys that fade
Like evening lights away,
For hopes that like the stars decayed
Have left thy mortal day;
For clouds of sorrow will depart,
And brilliant skies be given,
And though on earth the tear may start,
Yet bliss awaits the holy heart,
Amid the bowers of Heaven.”