Path of the Just—Its Radiancy.
By T. H. Stockton
The path of the sun is a radiant path. It is not only glorious. That expresses but half the truth. It is glorious because it is radiant. The sun is not like the moon—a mere reflector, glittering with borrowed light. God has given it light in itself; and therefore it shines, and cannot but shine. If the mountains could be lifted up, until they should enclose it like a wall; and the clouds ascending from the mountains, should concentrate their masses, and overarch it like a roof—it would shine still. Nay, made the more intense by the confinement, it would turn the mountains into diamonds, and the clouds into crystals, and flash through them all, and fill the world with new splendors. So with the path of the just. His glory is from within. It is a radiation. Put him where you will, he shines, and cannot but shine. God made him to shine. For instance, imprison Joseph—and he will shine out on all Egypt, cloudless as the sky where the rain never falls. Imprison Daniel—and the dazzled lions will return to their lairs, and the king come forth to worship at his rising, and all Babylon bless the beauty of the brighter and better day. Imprison Peter—and, with an angel for his harbinger star, he will spread his aurora from the fountains of the Jordan to the wells of Beersheba, and break like the morning over mountain and sea. Imprison Paul—and there will be high noon over all the Roman Empire. Imprison John—and the isles of the Ægean, and all the coasts around, will kindle with sunset visions, too gorgeous to be described, but never forgotten—a boundless panorama of prophecy, gliding from sky to sky, and enchanting the nations with openings of heaven, transits of saints and angels, and the ultimate glory of the city and kingdom of God. Not only so; for modern times have similar examples: examples in the church, and examples in the state. For instance, bury Luther in the depths of the Black Forest—and "the angel that dwelt in the bush" will honor him there; the trees around him will burn like shafts of ruby, and his glowing orb loom up again, round and clear as the light of all Europe. Thrust Bunyan into the gloom of Bedford jail—and, as he leans his head on his hand, the murky horizon of Briton will flame with fiery symbols—"delectable mountains," and celestial mansions, with holy pilgrims grouped on the golden hills, and bands of bliss, from the gates of pearl, hastening to welcome them home.—T. H. Stockton.