356 By the hearth side, then, and by the grave side, in solitude and amid the multitude, let us speak cheerfully and lovingly of the dead. Our beloved have departed, In the dreary empty house; The dead are still with us. There is a communion more real and more satisfying than that of mere bodily, physical and social presence. We are, by original constitution, more mental, moral, emotional, and spiritual beings, than we are sensitive, sensual, and physical. And were we now what we were intended to be, that is, sinless beings-the body with its appetites and wants would be subordinated and kept under, and occupy but a small place in our estimation and regard. The subjugation of our affections and souls to the craving power and tyranny of bodily appetites and desires is that vanity to which the creature is now, by reason of sin, reduced, and in consequence of which the whole creation groans and travails in pain together, so that even the children of God groan within themselves, being burdened. Christianity hears the despairing cry, "oh wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death," and brings deliverance. ennobles man's nature just in that proportion in which it reigns and Grace elevates and rules within us. It purifies the moral atmosphere, dissipates the rank vapours of sensuality, and imparts to the faculties of memory, association, and imagination, power of abstraction, an ideal life, and a capacity to roam the future, bring near things distant, and clothe with reality things invisible and spiritual. Oft when we pine afar from those we love We are therefore made capable of a communion far deeper than that of bodily presence, or even of memory. It is a spiritual communion. It is that fellowship of which all that is material, all of the eye, and lips, and hands, all that constitutes our daily and most endearing social intercourse, are but the symbols. These are only interpretations of an interior intercourse, the sensible proofs of an insensible affection, pledges of its reality, means through which the spirit communes with spirit. They are therefore necessarily imperfect and unsatisfying. They are found, after all, to be barriers and interruptions to that closer and more endearing sympathy-hich their very intervention renders impossible. And hence it is, that they leave behind them an unappeased, quenchless longing for a nearer, dearer, hopes are darkened by their ization. Expectations the most enmore perfect fellowship. The brightest larged are crashed by the felt poverty even of the richest luxuriance of earthly good, and feelings the most intense, which a letter read in ab 1857.] The Teachings of the Dead. 357 sence will kindle into a flame, often die away into slumbering ashes upon the hearth stone of our homes. How much more soul-stirring is our communion with some gifted author, when we read his works, than when we see him face to face? And when we peruse the letters of a friend long dead, how powerfully beyond all personal presence, do they stir up the fountain of our deepest emotions. And thus by some celestial art Moves there 'mid minds some unseen power, Like bee from flower to flower? With intermingling of their kinds From each to each it winds, The seed, or dust, or honey brings Thus also it is that in the perusal of the Bible, in prayer, in worship, in the ordinances of the Lord's house, and especially in the Lord's Supperthe soul enjoys such near and living and delightful communion with that adorable and ever blessed Saviour, whom having never seen, it nevertheless loves, and in whom though now it sees Him not, it rejoices with joy unspeakable and full of glory. And so also is it found, that in the upper chamber where brethren are gathered together with one accord for prayer, and praise, and mutual exhortation, that heart blends with heart, and all are melted together as unto one living, loving soul. Prayer! mighty accent-language winged-supreme- Which makes a thousand loved ones, scattered far, The viewless interchange of heaven's best gifts, Such also is our permitted communion with the dead. Though dead, they yet live. They yet speak to us. They are near and round abou us. We see them not. We hear them not. We feel them not, though even this one sometimes seem to do in sweet visions of the night. But we think of them. We conceive their well known forms. We remember all their love, all their natural features and manner and character We believe them to exist and to be still identical, still personal. We believe that they also retain though purified and enlarged, these same powers and affections. They abide with them imperishably and forever. They must therefore be exercised towards us as ours are towards them, and thus produce mutual and real communion of souls and hearts, of memory, love, and hope. Wherever they are, and whatever may be their condition, we know of the pious dead that they are happy and holy, that they are with Christ in paradise, that they remember us, and pray for us from beneath the throne. The dead. The dead are with us: Around our couch at midnight, At twilight, when the dew falls, And when in social circle And we listen to their voices then, The departed-the departed, They crowd around me now, And a sweet and cheerful light of peace I know they have not left me, Tho' no more I see their forms; And their presence 'mid the strife of life, Is like sunshine seen in storms. The beautiful, the beautiful, All silently they stand, Within the chambers of my soul, A fair and shadowy band; And from out those chambers now and then This cheerful voice is given, "Oh! faint not, while ye walk below Ye dwell with us in heaven. "No earthly sorrow blight us, No chill misfortunes pain; Then weep not, tho' with you no more In form we walk again. Ye feel that we are with you When ye wander by the streams, And ye see our faces as of old, In the pleasant light of dreams. 1857.] The Teachings of the Dead. 359 "And when in twilight musings Ye think of us as dead- Remember that the soul once born, The dead, therefore, still speak to us. They soothe and comfort us with a present, a living, and a loving communion, and with the hope of a perfect personal union in that better world where we shall see eye to eye, and know even as we are now known. They draw our hearts after them. They are not gone where we never expect, or wish, to go, but to a better country than this, a country which is ours also-to which we have an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, reserved for us—and to which we have even now secured to us an indisputable title. We remember when a boy, seeing a much elder brother jump from the wharf into the boat which conveyed him to the vessel that bore him to this foreign land. He was the first link severed from a large family, and the event was sadly impressive. How anxiously did we watch the receding sail until it was finally lost in the blue horizon. How often afterwards when walking along the sea shore did we feel consoled by the thought that the same Atlantic occan which spread itself out in magnificent beauty before us, rolled its waves to this further shore, where he might be also treading-that the sun which was sinking beneath the western horizon, would in the morning rise up on the eastern-and that the same moon and stars which kindled glory in the evening sky, attracted the upward gaze of the distant wanderer. When we met around the family altar, how refreshing was it to mention his name, to remember him in prayer, and to feel that around the mercy seat, however separated in body, we could mingle our spirits and our petitions. And as one brother after another were attracted to this land of promise, how were the affections of those behind centered here! How home-like did America become! And how gradually were all remaining ties of home and kindred loosened, until they were willingly, though sadly, severed, in the hope of a re-union here. And thus is it when friend after friend departs to the celestial land. They are not lost, but gone before. They are not dead, they only sleep bodily in our dust, while their spirits have returned to God. They are now with him. They are where we wish soon to be, and where alone we can be fully and abidingly happy. They are gone to prepare a place for us, that where they are, we may also be. And we cannot but feel more and more weaned from earth as we think of them, and commune with them, and as we become more and more desirous to depart and be with Christ and them, which is far better. Were earth our home, our rest, our eud, these severings of heart strings, these separations of commingled souls by the blank wall of death through which we cannot see, and over which we cannot pass, how dreadful would they be! But if this world is but our place of probation, discipline, and preparation for our true homes and rest, oh how needful are these bereavements to sever our affections from the things of earth, around which, like parasitic plants, they so luxuriantly en twine, and thus open up to us that heavenly radiance they had so much observed. How sweetly does Fanny Forrester depict these earth loving ties of every human heart. O do not let me die! the earth is bright, Yet I am frail, and with frail things would dwell. I cannot die! the flowers of earthly love Shed their rich fragrance on a kindred heart; Yet with these ones 'twould be too hard to part. I dream of heaven, and well I love those dreams. It is not that my lot is void of gloom, That sadness never circles round my heart; That I would never from the earth depart. 'Tis that I love the world, its cares, its sorrows, Its bounding hopes, its feelings fresh and warm, I love them all; but closer still the loving I well can bide the storms of worldly strife. Then do not let me die! for earth is bright, Heaven is a land of holiness and light, But I am frail, and with the frail would dwell. And as no one has learned by more touching sorrows and bereavements their heavenly power to wean the renewed soul from earth, and assimilate and uplift its desires to heaven, so no one has more beautifully and feelingly portrayed it than this same writer: Yes, let me die! Am I of spirit-birth, And shall I linger here where spirits fell, "Tis sweet to die! The flowers of earthly love, Life is a dream, a bright but fleeting dream And from the mist of earthliness a gleam |