No; there would be something jarring without it. All other heavens but that of the Bible sing the song of Moses alone; they ask nothing more than to be free from the pain of yesterday. The heaven of Christ would be content with no such aspiration. It deems it not enough to promise the joys of to-morrow—the golden streets, and the pearly gates, and the luscious fruits of an unfading summer's bloom. It seeks to connect the future with the past, to show that in some sense the glory had its birth in the gloom. It would reveal to us that the golden streets have arisen from our desert, that the pearly gates have opened from our brick walls, that the luscious fruits have sprung from the very ground which we used to deem barren. It would tell us that the crown has been made from the materials of our cross, that the day has come out of our dusk, and that we have climbed the heights of Olivet by ascending the steps of Calvary.
And is not the heaven of Christ true in this to human nature? What you and I are seeking is not merely nor even mainly emancipation. That would be something, but not all; I want a justification of my past bonds. It is not enough to be able to say "I am all right now." Have I not wasted time? Are there not years which the locusts have eaten? Might not this emancipation have come sooner? Why should I not always have been free? Is it any vindication of God's dealings with Job that at the end he gets back houses and brethren and lands? No; that is a mere appendage to the story. The patriarch wants to learn, and we want to learn, why he was afflicted at all. We are not satisfied merely because the grey is followed by the gold. We wish to know that the grey has made the gold. The song of Moses may tell how the peace came after the storm; but the song of the Lamb alone can say, "God answered Job out of the whirlwind."
Our future, then, like our present, must be a blending of memory and hope. The stones of the heavenly temple must be stones that have been hewn in the quarry of time; otherwise they will not sparkle in the sun. The marriage supper of the Lamb is a union of to-morrow and yesterday; no other bells will ring Christ in for me. Grace is not enough; it must be justifying grace—grace that vindicates my past. In vain shall I walk by the crystal river, in vain shall I stand upon the glassy sea, if the light upon each be only the sun of to-morrow. My sea must be "glass mingled with fire"—calm that has been evolved by tempest, rest that has grown out of struggle, beauty that has shaped itself through seeming anarchy, joy that has been born of tears. To-morrow morning and yesterday evening must form together one day—a day in which the imperfections of the old house will explain the symmetry of the new, and in which the symmetry of the new will compensate for the short-comings of the old. So shall the first and second temple receive a common glory, and memory and hope shall be joined for evermore.
Matheson
"NOT TOO LATE."
By the late Rev. Gordon Calthrop, M.A.
The cords were knotted round me fast,
I writhed and plucked them as I lay;
But Sin too well her net had cast—
I could not tear myself away.
Then hissed a voice, "Give up the strife;
Too late thou seek'st to change thy life."
Another spake—"Make God thy Friend,
And then 't is not too late to mend."
But I had scorned the proffered love,
And bidden Heav'n's angels from me flee;
How could I think that Heaven would move
To stretch a helping hand to me?
So hissed the voice, "Give up thy hope:
Some paths to hell must downward slope."
The other said, "God is thy Friend;
Why should it be too late to mend?"