Our Home by S. M. Swan

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 10, 1857

Our Home.

By S. M. Swan

HERE we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come. This has been the position of the people of God in all ages. They have ever been pilgrims and strangers on the earth, looking forward to a world to come, neither seeking nor expecting rest until they reach their journey's end. Even our blessed Lord when upon earth could say, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head." And Paul, while speaking of the prophets and saints of former ages, says, "They wandered in deserts and in mountains and dens and caves of the earth; of whom the world was not worthy." They saw the promises afar off, and embraced them, and became pilgrims on the earth that they might receive a better, a heavenly home. From that time until the present, we find that the people of God have been a despised and persecuted people, having no portion here, but cheerfully foregoing all the pleasures of earth, and counting not even their lives dear unto themselves, for the sake of the promised inheritance, their final home. Home! O how sweet the sound to the way-worn pilgrim! How often has it cheered the tried, desponding Christian on his lonely journey! How has it strengthened the martyr to face the tyrant's frown, and how has it alleviated his sufferings under the most shameful torture and death! How has it buoyed up the child of God amid poverty and affliction, and how has it cheered his passage through the valley and the shadow of death! The home which we seek, is a glorious home. 'Tis not some little spot of earth upon which wealth and pride have lavished all their art to beautify and adorn; 'tis not some kingly palace with gilded domes and princely halls, where the rich and great of earth alone can enter; no! it is a city whose streets are of purest gold, and whose gates are of the most magnificent pearl, and where are "many mansions." Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, nor can the heart of man conceive of its glory. 'Tis the capital of a land whose beauties have never been spoken, and whose glories, poets have in vain endeavored to portray.

No change shall mar the beauty of that land, no autumnal winds shall sweep over it, to blast its blooming flowers, no wintry snows to cover its perpetual verdure. No disease or death are there, "no weary wasting of the frame away;" there the parting hand is never taken, the bitter word, Adieu, is never spoken. No tears shall ever dim the eye, no sad and sorrowing hearts are there, no tired and weary limbs. No temptation or sin are there; but what is best of all, Jesus is there, "the joy and the light of the place." No need of the sun, for his glorious presence forever banishes the night. There he who died to redeem his people from death, shall reign their triumphant King. There we may bask forever in his smiles, and with immortal tongues forever sing his praise.

These are a few of the glories which adorn the Christian's home. Is it not worth striving for? If its glories so attracted those who saw it afar off, how should they attract us who view it nigh at hand? Already have we passed the last waymark, and we almost begin to see its splendid domes, its pearly gates, its glorious foundations. Already its brilliant lights begin to shine with greater lustre upon our pathway, already its celestial music breaks upon our ears, already do our hearts leap with joy at the glorious prospect, and we become so captivated with the beauties of our home, that the place of our pilgrimage seems dark and dreary. Dear brethren and sisters, not much longer shall we be homeless wanderers. Says Jesus, "I go to prepare a place for you, and will come again and receive you unto myself, that where I am there ye may be also." A little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry. A little while, and we'll roam the fair fields of paradise restored, and forever enjoy the pleasures of home, our own sweet home! O how my heart longs for home!

S. M. SWAN. Orwell, Ohio, Nov. 1857.