STRUCTURAL ASPECTS OF HEAVEN.
I would not attempt to describe the structural glory of Heaven, for I know not where nor how to begin. Seemingly all things are transparent even to the center of vast orbs. Magnificent cities apparently lie suspended far under the indefinite surface of the orbs composing Heaven, and free passage ways of phantastical design ramify throughout all the glorious under-surface regions.
Architectural greatness here finds its unmatched examples. Seven-mile diamond arches are common-places, and towers of two thousand miles in height and one thousand miles in diameter, as the corner stone of a city, are nothing unusual, although many cities are built on a smaller plan. Nothing needs repairing, and nothing is mortgaged. The wealth of unnumbered trillions is easily represented in one orb of Heaven's empire.
I now saw a thousand-fold more clearly than ever before the absolute folly of fixing our affections on the perishing things of the mortal life in our dark and dusty world.
While my eyes were still feasting on the sublime picture before me I began to realize that my privilege would be of short duration, as the vision was fast waning. I looked intently until the last curtain fell, and reluctantly I continued my journey toward my own little world. I now felt that, if the whole Earth were my own property, I would gladly push it all aside if I could be a mere door keeper in one of the heavenly cities of my God.
And very often since that time I have cast my longing eyes skyward, hoping to catch another glimpse of that fair scene.
How I long for that restful picture,
A vision of Heaven, once more;
With its trillion orbs of beauty,
And its wealth of endless store.
There are saints from unnumbered planets,
Where they lived in a million ways.
Now they mingle in perfect glory,
Through the length of eternal days.
There the poor are wealthy forever,
For the beggar sits down with the King.
The man who never knew music
Will vie with angels to sing.
Here the hopeful student, progressing,
After failing does often grieve;
But in Heaven each lesson is perfect,
No theory to blind or deceive.
Here the runner, in breathless struggle,
Sees the other in touch of the goal;
But Heaven gives each one the laurel,
To be crowned while the ages roll.
There they have no light of a candle,
For there are no shadows of night.
There the flash of unnumbered opals
Sparkles on in their wealth of light.
In that home-like palace of Heaven,
Where these myriad trillions are,
There the Lord is the self-same Master,
And Love is the self-same star.