So we perceive that man needs to pay attention to that immortal soul of his just as much as to attend to his mortal body. And a man cannot attend to a business of importance in a short time, of which he has been ignorant all his life, and in which he has had no practice, and therefore very little experience. It would be a difficult task, indeed, for a man who has been nothing but a salesman in a store all his life, to become a scientific artificer, or to undertake to discharge the duties that devolve on a professor of the higher branches of science, because he has never given any thought or study to these things. So will it be very, very difficult for that Catholic to properly prepare for heaven after long years of neglect of the means to obtain it, and, because he has never thought about it, it will be hardly possible for him in his last hours to make proper preparation for it. The mind will be so absorbed with the past, and so perplexed as to the future, that he cannot give his famishing soul the nourishment that it needs. The death-bed scenes of worldly-minded men certify to the truth of this. They have viewed heaven as something to be thought about in the future, and intended to prepare for it, but all of a sudden sickness prostrates them, and when told they will never hear another sermon, never attend another Mass, the trouble begins not so much about their soul as about their body and the business of this world.

But thanks be to God! while there are those who are walking on that broad and pleasant way which many, too many, find, and which leads to destruction, there are many faithful Christians who, even though some of them have but little or no comfort here, are looking forward, and hastening unto that reward which awaits those who love our Lord Jesus Christ. Heaven, to them, is no gloomy word. Heaven does not make them regret leaving this world, with all its fleeting joys, for heaven is a most interesting and important subject to them. Heaven is the reason of all their hopes, the reward of all their prayers, fastings, and other good works. To the pious and virtuous, the thought of heaven is the polar star which guides them to their eternal happiness, To the poor and desolate, it opens the celestial country where flow milk and honey, and where the foot is never weary, where all tears are wiped away from their eyes, and where the sweetest consolation of an eternal reward awaits them. The thought of heaven brings the young to give their hearts early to God. It leads them to their first Confession, and encourages them to make their first Communion, so that, by keeping God's holy laws, they may receive the crown of life. The thought of heaven helps the old, who are weak and trembling, for they receive new strength when they see the evening of their lives, and view the dawning of that happy land, the Canaan of the children of God.

How comforting, indeed, then, is the thought of heaven, for then all our hopes will be realized, and our love made perfect! O you who thirst for human love! your desire is to love and be loved. Love is the object of your life, the light of your hearts; but know this: that no earthly love will ever bring you perfect happiness; and if it should so happen that you should find a joy in possessing some creature, tell me, how long will that joy last? Not long, for God sends death, and He takes away the objects of your love, the idol that you have placed between Him and your soul. A mother finds the greatest joy in beholding the child to whom she gave birth. It may be her first-born; she loves it, caresses it; she spends days in caring for it, and, if at night she awakes, the first thought is of that child: but some day death comes in, and lays his icy hand on the life-strings of its tiny heart, and severs the link that binds it to this life, and it is no more. But the Christian mother willingly gives it up to God, for she knows that in heaven she will again embrace that child. It is the thought of heaven that brings her consolation. A friend has found unspeakable joy in living with his companion, they were boys together, they grew up together, they received the Holy Sacraments together, and, just as they suppose their happiness to be complete, death terminates the existence of one, and the other is left alone to learn the lesson all men must, sooner or later, learn—all persons, all things are perishable, and "the heart," as St. Augustine says, "is at unrest until it rests in God." No matter what bereavement comes over the Christian, he is animated with hope, and his joy speedily returns when he thinks of heaven as a place where he will meet and recognize his loved ones. Here, my dear brethren, we grow tired of the most costly and beautiful objects. It is impossible for us to keep up our enthusiasm for a long time, as we are creatures of change and chance. In heaven, we shall never grow tired; for, in beholding Almighty God and all the glories of heaven, we shall be so entranced that nothing will be able to distract us. In heaven, time will pass away unnoticed, and its events will have no power to weary us.

There is a beautiful legend told of a Franciscan friar, which will illustrate my meaning better. He thought that he would become tired of heaven itself and its occupations; for by his time of life he, too, had learned the secret that nothing in this world can bring real, lasting happiness. So, one day, his superior sent him out to gather fuel for the fire. As he was picking up the wood, he heard a far sweeter warble than ever came from the throat of a bird; but it was not a bird of the earthly forest; it was some sweet strains of celestial music that he heard. He must pause one moment to hear the end of the song before making up his bundle of wood. So he stood still, and the warbling went on, so full, so sweet, so rich, that he almost held his breath in ecstasy. When it ceased, "How short it was!" he said, then picked up the arm-load of sticks and returned to the monastery. He rang the bell at the gate, but a brother came whom he did not know. "Who are you that takes the place of Brother John?" he inquired. "But rather who are you?" was the reply. "Ah, I am Brother Francis." "Brother Francis! There is no Brother Francis." Then the oldest monk in the monastery was called, and he tottered in on his cane, and told how, when he was a boy, he had heard some old gray-haired monks tell that, long, long ago, when they were young, Brother Francis had gone, one afternoon, for wood, and never returned: killed doubtless by the wild beasts. So they counted the years, and found that Brother Francis had listened to the bird's song one hundred and fifty years, and thought that too short. Now, if the sweet singing from the voice of an angel could so entrance this holy man that he thought so many years to be but a moment, how much more will our soul be enraptured with the sight of heaven, with the song of the choir of the redeemed, and by the vision of the Blessed Trinity! In heaven, the heart will stand still, and in the fulness of its joy remain transfixed for ever.

Then why is it that we give way under our sufferings, our daily trials and crosses? Why do so many grow faint-hearted, and think that there is no rest, no peace, for them? Why do people despair of ever being happy? It is because they forget the very object for which they were created. They lose sight of the eternal joy and the unending happiness that God has prepared for those who love Him.

At Holy Mass, whether it be a festival, fast, or funeral, these sublime words are sung by the sacrificing priest at the altar, "Sursum corda"—"Lift up your hearts," and the faithful answer, "Habemus ad Dominum"—"We have lifted them up to the Lord." Now, these words are kept before our minds, on a festival, to remind us of the eternal joys of heaven; on a funeral, to call our attention to that home above where there is no death, no parting, and where all tears are wiped away from the eyes. Then let "Sursum corda" when it is sung this morning, revive this thought of heaven in your hearts—you who are sad, who are sick and poor, you who are in the midst of severe temptations; and carry these words with you through the week, and, whenever you are tempted to murmur against your lot, "Lift up your hearts." Think of Paradise. We were made for Paradise, and we ought always to remember how joyful the thought of Paradise is to the Christian's heart. "O most happy mansion of the city above! O most happy and bright day, that knows no night, but is always enlightened by the Sovereign Truth! The citizens of heaven know how joyful that day is; but the banished children of Eve lament that this our day is bitter and tedious. Oh! that this day would dawn upon us, and all temporal things would come to an end!"

Then, at this time, let us all look up, and be more vigilant in the service of God while on earth. Let us so live here that our lives may be a foretaste of heaven. Let the Church on earth be the vestibule of heaven in which we wait patiently for the time of our admission therein. Let us be faithful to the laws of God and the Church: "Laying aside every weight and the sin that doth so easily beset us, by patience let us run the race set before us; looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith, who, having the joy proposed to Him, underwent the cross, despising the shame, and now sitteth down at the right hand of the throne of God," [Footnote 93] to whom let us lift up our hearts, and offer that beautiful prayer which the Holy Church is chanting throughout the world on this Fourth Sunday after Easter: "O Almighty God, who alone canst make the faithful to be of one mind: grant that they may love those things which Thou dost command and desire, those things which Thou dost promise, that so among all the changes of this world their hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found, through Jesus Christ our Lord Amen."

[Footnote 93: Heb xii. i.]