How wondrous was the scene that opened on the servant of Elisha, when, at a time of imminent peril, the prophet's prayer, "Lord, open his eyes, that he may see," was granted! With chariots and horses the fierce enemy was encompassing the city; but lo! Above, a defence, before invisible, was seen to girdle round the prophet: horses and chariots of fire, the legions of Heaven, guarded the servant of God, and no puny arm of flesh had power to hurt one hair of his head. Were our eyes thus enabled to behold the spirits of light, we might see bright winged visitors entering, as familiar guests, the lowly cottage, the attic, the cellar—abodes which proud, luxurious sons of dust would not stoop to enter; we might see angels still encouraging a Peter in prison, refreshing a weary Elisha, rejoicing over a repentant sinner, or bending with celestial smiles over a dying Lazarus, waiting for the signal to welcome a seraph new-born to the skies. But on whatever missions of love these bright beings may come to our earth, we owe their ministry to the Lord of angels: they are "descending upon the Son of man."
And we have our "ascending" angels too—those whose upward flight we fain would follow—blest ones, whom we dare not even wish to detain, as they mount:
"Onward to the glory,
Upward to the prize,
Homeward to the mansions
Far beyond the skies!"
Our eyes are dim with tears, as in vain we try to track their course, lost in a haze of glory; but this we own, with thankful hearts—they owe their exaltation to the King of saints alone: angels are "ascending," as well as "descending, upon the Son of man."
In the dark, bitter gloom of bereavement, we rest our aching heads on the tombstone which covers the relics of one most dear, peacefully sleeping in Jesus. Like Jacob, we feel benighted and alone. But if, in the midnight of sorrow, God reveal Himself to us as He revealed Himself to the patriarch, even that stone will become to us as a Bethel. Does it bear the dear name of our dead—no, rather a name that is written, we trust, in God's Book of Life! Above the stone rises the ladder of light; its foot may rest in the grave, but its summit is hidden in the radiance of Heaven.
[VII.]
The Coat of Many Colours.
A MOURNFUL relic this, all torn and stained, defiled with dust, and blood, and tears! We seem to hear the wail of the miserable father, as with anguish he gazed upon the once goodly garment. "It is my son's coat; an evil beast hath devoured him! Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces!"
In the excess of his grief, "Jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned for his son many days."