Little Folks (November 1884) / A Magazine for the Young

by Various

A DREAM FOR ALL AGES.

T
he sun was fast sinking in the west; and the shades of night were spreading a deep gloom overall, as a poor, lone traveller, foot-sore and weary, looked around him for some place of rest. His face wore its saddest expression, for his heart was nearly bursting with grief; and, as he rolled along a big stone for his pillow, and laid his weary head upon it, it was watered with his tears. But only the fair moon and the twinkling stars seemed to see his grief; and, as he thought of his loneliness, he heaved a deep sigh, and wept afresh.

Far behind him, in the lovely and peaceful Beersheba, he had left the home of his youth, the mother whom he loved so dearly, the old sheep that he had so fondly tended, and the little pet lambs that had nestled in his bosom and gambolled by his side. There was his aged father, too, who lay stretched on his death-bed, and whom he might never hope to see again. And still fresh in his memory were all the old familiar scenes to which he might never again return: the soft green pastures, where, morning and evening, he had rested with his sheep, the great rock behind which he had led them to hide them from the noonday heat, and the quiet waters to which he had taken them that they might slake their thirst.

From one loved spot to another his thoughts would wander; and he shivered, as from cold, while he thought of the land all unknown to him to which he was journeying, of the strange faces that he would have to meet, and the strange voices that would fall upon his ear.

But saddest of all came the remembrance of the cause that had led to his banishment, the deep sin that he had committed, the cruel deceit that he had practised upon his father, the great wrong that he had inflicted upon his brother, the grief of the dying Isaac, the wrath of Esau, and the consequent necessary parting with all he held dear.

If he could only undo the past; if he could only be as he was a short time ago, clear of this guilt, how thankful he would be! But there it was, staring him in the face, and he could not blot out the memory of it. He fancied himself again getting a kid from amongst his flock; giving it to his mother to dress, so that his father would not know it from venison; stooping down, while she put on the back of his neck small pieces of the kid's skin, that it might feel, to the blind Isaac, like the hairy skin of his brother Esau; carrying in the smoking-hot dish; telling, one after another, gross falsehoods, in reply to the questions put by his puzzled father; repeating oft his assurances that he was indeed Isaac's very son Esau; and bowing his head to receive the blessing intended for his elder brother. Once more, in imagination, he was hurrying out of his father's apartment; and the loud and bitter cry of his wronged brother was ringing through the tent, never to die away or be forgotten. He saw again his brother white with rage, and heard him take the solemn oath, that, as soon as the mourning for his father was over, he would be avenged. He heard his frightened mother plead with Isaac, that he might be sent away to her brother in Padan Aram. He heard his father's consent, and saw his mother packing up the few things that he needed, and sending him away with her blessing and with floods of tears. He remembered how, when he had turned round to take a last look at his home; she was still standing in the door of the tent, watching, as far as she could see him, the son of her love, and wiping her streaming eyes.

And now he was lying on the bare ground, with only a cold, hard stone for his pillow: all that he loved left far behind; an unknown future before him; and wild beasts prowling about in the distance, in hungry search of prey. How heavily on his conscience lay his deep sin! And how the pure, bright moon and the peaceful stars seemed to be reproaching him!

He thought upon his father's God, and his grandfather's trusting obedience, that had gained for him the title of the friend of the great Ruler of the universe. And, as he contrasted with Abraham's faith his own wicked conduct, he felt miserably unworthy to bear his name. Gladly would he have closed his eyes in repose, and thankfully would he have forgotten, for a time at least, his heavy sorrows; but—

"Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep,

flies from the guilty conscience; and there was no rest for Jacob.

Oh! Why had he so easily and so weakly yielded to that strong temptation to obtain by fraud the coveted blessing? Why had he not, like Abraham, patiently waited for the fulfilment of the sure promise made on his behalf? Why had he not waited till God Himself had brought it about—that the elder should serve the younger—instead of faithlessly and sinfully hurrying it on himself, and bringing down upon himself and his home all this misery?

There was no book of sweet Psalms to comfort him and assure him of forgiveness; but, as he turned uneasily on his hard bed, and looked up to the quiet heavens, something of their peace stole into his heart. He thought of the great God who dwells above; of the kindness which He had shown to Abraham and Isaac; of the gentle, loving way in which He had drawn near to them; and of the gracious promises which He had made to them.

And he felt sure that such a God must be merciful and compassionate to a poor erring wanderer like himself; and that, enthroned in glory as He was, He would listen to his cry, as He had listened to the outcast Ishmael's before him; and forgive. He would tell Him how sorry he was for what he had done, and ask Him to take away the load that was weighing him down.

So the restless young man arose; and, kneeling upon the bare ground, and raising his beseeching eyes to the star-lit heavens, he poured out to Him who reigns above them the tale of his griefs, and asked Him, in mercy, to forgive the sins that he had committed against Him.

And there, as he knelt, his prayer was heard; the weight of guilt was lifted from his oppressed spirit; and he breathed more freely than he had done since he committed that dark sin. He could not now go back to his old home. Early on the morrow he must go forward on his long journey, and endure all that he had brought upon himself; but his mind was at ease; his heart was at rest. The God of his fathers had heard him, and with His forgiveness and blessing he could be happy.

So he lay down again, not to toss uneasily about as before, but to sleep the sleep of those who are at peace with Heaven.

And the pitying Father above, who, as the Bible assures us, does not deal with us after our sins, nor reward us according to our iniquities, not only put away Jacob's transgression, but drew near to the poor, erring, but repentant wanderer, lying out there in the lone desert, to comfort him.

A peaceful smile now rested on the face of the sleeper, reflecting the deep happiness which filled his breast; and soon over his countenance was spread an expression of joy that it had never worn before.

He saw in his sleep a great ladder of light, the one end of which rested on the earth, while the other reached right up to heaven. Beautiful, bright-winged angels, with faces shining like the sun, were going up and coming down it. And the Lord of Glory Himself, to whom he had just prayed, stood above it. No words of anger or stern rebuke were on His lips. No ominous frown darkened His face. Only a look of tenderness and love lighted it up; and the pardoned Jacob, unworthy as he knew himself to be, did not shrink from looking up to Him, who in His gracious compassion had deigned to appear to him.

"I am the Lord God of Abraham thy father, and the God of Isaac," He said; "and I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest."

Oh, how glad and thankful Jacob was thus to be assured that, though he had so sinned, yet God had not left him, but was still with him! How deeply thankful he was that he would not now have to go on his journey alone, as he had feared, but that the God of his fathers would go with him, to take care of him, wherever he went! His bosom swelled with joy, and his face grew still brighter; for this was the happiest moment in all his life.

There, lying on that cold stone, he felt nothing but joy. With the good and Holy One so near, with His peace and gladness in his heart, he could smile at all outward miseries.

But the gracious and gentle voice did not cease yet. "I will not leave thee," it went on to say, "until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of. The land whereon thou liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed. And thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth; and thou shalt spread abroad to the west, and to the east, and to the north, and to the south; and in thee, and in thy seed, shall all the families of the earth be blessed."

So he, who was all alone, was to become the father of innumerable people; and the one who had deserved only cursing was not only to be blessed himself, but to be made a blessing to all the earth!

The vision passed away, and Jacob awoke, astounded at God's goodness and mercy. For he knew that the dream was no idle thing, but that it told of present and future realities. And as he meditated on it his joy increased. He took the big, hard stone, that had afforded him so sweet a resting-place, and setting it up for a pillar, in grateful remembrance of his happy dream, poured oil on the top of it. The sweet perfume of the precious oil filled all the air, and rose up like an offering of glad thanksgiving, well-pleasing to Him who looked down upon it.

"Surely God is in this place, and I knew it not," Jacob said. For he could never have imagined, as, with tearful eyes, he first lay down on that lone spot, that God would have revealed Himself there; and this was the first great lesson of love and mercy that he had ever spelled over. "I knew it not; but now I know, and will go on my way with gladness, fearing nothing."

So sacred had the spot become to him, that he called it Bethel, the House of God. And he vowed a vow, that if God would indeed be with him, as He had promised, and prosper him, and bring him back again to his father's house, then he would serve Him faithfully all his life, and would give Him a tenth of all that was bestowed upon him.

He went on his journey no longer lonely and sad; for the God of his fathers was with him; and His presence brightened up the dreary wilderness, and made the solitary place glad.

In the new land to which he went Jacob had much to endure; but the vision of the bright ladder that he had seen in his dream rose up again and again to comfort him; and his heart grew stronger and braver as he thought of the abiding presence of God.

Years afterwards, when he came back to the land of Canaan, he visited the spot where, on that memorable night, he had lain down in such sorrow, and risen up in such joy. He had then rosy children, and numerous possessions. And as he thought of all the unmerited goodness and mercy which had followed him in the strange land, and of the faithfulness which had brought him back, he built another altar, and praised God anew.

But, though Jacob was so comforted by his dream, it is scarcely likely that he could see, as we can, the full meaning of it; for the vision of the bright ladder was intended to comfort God's people in all ages, and to grow brighter and brighter as it came to be understood.

So, we, who know how the glorious ladder is Jesus Christ, through whom all blessings come down from heaven to us, and through whom, also, we may mount up to the very throne of "our Father," in the highest heavens; we, too, will raise up our altar of thanksgiving, and go on our way, rejoicing in the God of Bethel, who is still with His people, and who, from the top of the ladder, holds sweet communion with them, cheering them on their way, till He brings them into the goodly land.

"Oh! touch mine eyes, that I may see
The vision of the Ladder bright;
Reveal Thy glory, Lord, to me,
And cheer the darkness of the night.

A stone is all my pillow here:
No other rest I seek below;
'A stranger and a sojourner,'
Like all my fathers, I would go.

But be Thou with me, and the night
More glad shall be than high noon-day,
And the lone desert shall be bright
With glories that ne'er pass away."

H. D.