The Glass Railroad by E. R. Dewey

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 18, 1873

The Glass Railroad.

By E. R. Dewey

I once read a dream that made quite an impression upon me; and I have often thought of it as being applicable at the present time. It was something like the following:—

“It seemed to me as though I had been suddenly aroused from my slumbers. I looked around and found myself in the center of a gay crowd. The first sensation that I experienced was that of being borne along with a peculiarly gentle motion. I looked around, and found that I was in a long train of cars which were gliding over a railway, and it seemed to be many miles in length. It was composed of many cars. Every car opened at the top, was filled with men and women, all gaily dressed, all happy, all laughing, talking, and singing.

“The peculiarly gentle motion of the cars interested me. There was no grating, such as we hear on a railroad. They moved on without the least jar or sound. This, I say, interested me. I looked over the side, and to my astonishment, found the railroad and cars made of glass. The glass wheels moved over the glass rails without the least noise of oscillation. The soft motion produced a feeling of exquisite happiness. I was happy! It seemed as if everything was at rest within. I was full of peace. While I was wondering at this circumstance, a new sight attracted my attention. All along the railroad, on either side, within a foot of the track, was laid long lines of coffins, and every one contained a corpse dressed for burial, with the white face turned upward to the light. The sight filled me with horror. In my agony, I tried to scream, but could make no sound. The gay crowd around me only redoubled their singing and laughter at the sight of my agony. We went on, every moment coming nearer to the end in the road, far, far, in the distance.

“‘What are those?’ I cried at last, pointing to the dead in the coffins. ‘These are the persons who made the trip before us,’ was the reply of one of the gayest ones near me. ‘What trip?’ I asked. ‘Why, the trip we are now making, the trip on this glass railroad,’ was the answer. ‘Why do they lie along the road, each one in his coffin?’ I was answered with a whisper and a hollow laugh which froze my blood: ‘They were dashed to pieces at the end of the railroad,’ said the person whom I addressed. ‘You know the railroad terminates at an abyss. It is lined with pointed rocks. As each car arrives at the end, it precipitates its passengers into the abyss. They are dashed to pieces upon the rocks, and their bodies are brought here and placed in the coffins as a warning to other passengers. But no one minds it; we are so happy on the glass railroad.’ I can never describe the horror with which those words inspired me. ‘What is the name of the glass railroad?’ I asked. The person replied in the same strain: ‘It is Habit. It is very easy to get into the cars, but very hard to get out. For, once in these cars, every one is delighted with the soft, gliding motion. The cars move so gently! Yes, this is a railroad of HABIT, and with glass wheels we are whirling over a glass railroad toward a fathomless abyss. In a few moments we will be there, and they will take our bodies and put them in the coffins as they have the others; but nobody will mind it; no one does!’”

“I choked with horror. I struggled to escape. I made frantic efforts to leap from the train, and in the struggle, awoke. I knew it was only a dream, yet whenever I think of it, I can see that long train of cars moving gently along the glass railroad. I can see cars far ahead as they are turning the bend of the road. I can see the dead in their coffins, clear and distinct, on either side of the road, while the singing and

laughing of the gay and happy passengers sound in my ears. I only see those cold forms of the dead, with their glassy eyes uplifted, and their frozen hands upon their shrouds. It was a horrible dream. But ‘there was a moral in that dream.’”

The power of habit is great. It is far easier to pass carelessly along than to break away from a sinful habit. Satan so lulls us by his fair promises that we feel no great anxiety to break away from our old habits of sin; and although we may have been repeatedly warned of our danger, we cannot seem to feel it, nor to realize that it will soon be too late to escape the fearful doom of all who thus pass on regardless of their duty to God.

It is an awful thing to become so stupefied as to be careless in regard to our eternal welfare; but how many of us are in danger of giving this world too large a place in our hearts, and thereby losing sight of the life that is to come.

May the Lord help us to arouse to a sense of our true condition before it be forever too late. E. R. DEWEY.