“Shall we lose our personality in a vague ocean of ether,—you one puff of gas, I another?—
“He, with his own wounded body, rose and ate and walked and talked.
“Is all memory of this life to be swept away?—
“He, arisen, has forgotten nothing. He waits to meet his disciples at the old, familiar places; as naturally as if he had never been parted from them, he falls in with the current of their thoughts.
“Has any one troubled us with fears that in the glorified crowds of heaven we may miss a face dearer than all the world to us?—
“He made himself known to his friends; Mary, and the two at Emmaus, and the bewildered group praying and perplexed in their bolted room.
“Do we weary ourselves with speculations whether human loves can outlive the shock of death?—
“Mary knew how He loved her, when, turning, she heard him call her by her name. They knew, whose hearts ‘burned within them while he talked with them by the way, and when he tarried with them, the day being far spent.’”
“And for the rest?”
“For the rest, about which He was silent, we can trust him, and if, trusting, we please ourselves with fancies, he would be the last to think it blame to us. There is one promise which grows upon me the more I study it, ‘He that spared not his own Son, how shall he not also with him freely give us all things?’ Sometimes I wonder if that does not infold a beautiful double entendre, a hint of much that you and I have conjectured,—as one throws down a hint of a surprise to a child.