Hundreds of bold and daring navigators have left their bones to whiten amid the snows and ice of the arctic regions, lured thither by the thirst of fame or of knowledge, in the pursuit of science, and in search of the Northwest Passage. But suppose some more fortunate adventurer should discover there, even at the very pole itself, a veritable 'fountain of youth and beauty,' whose rejuvenating waters could restore the elasticity of youth to the frame of age, smoothing away its wrinkles, and imprinting the bloom of childhood upon its cheeks, bringing back the long-lost freshness and buoyancy to the soul; would not the navigators of those dangerous seas be multiplied in the ratio of a million to one? Should we not all become Ponce de Leons, braving every danger, submitting to every privation, sacrificing wealth, fame, everything, in quest of the precious boon? What a hecatomb of mouldering bones would bestrew those fields of ice! For though not one in ten thousand might reach the promised goal, the hegira would still go on till the end of time, each deluded mortal hoping that he might be that happy, fortunate one. As the dying millionnaire would give all that he possesses for one moment of time, so would all mankind throw every present blessing into the scale, in the hope of drawing the prize in that great lottery.
There is a fountain of youth and beauty open to every soul beneath the sun: there is a rejuvenation both to soul and body, which shall not only restore all the freshness of the bygone days, but also the joys of the past, a thousandfold brighter and dearer, and that by a process which will not need repeating, for that youth will be eternal. I am using no metaphor now, but speaking of that which is actual and tangible. There is such a fount, but not here: it gushes in the courts of that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For the soul, at the moment of its separation from the body, enters upon a new life, whose course shall be exactly the reverse of that of earth, for it shall constantly increase in all the attributes of youth. There will be no dimming of the faculties, but a continual brightening; no grieving over an irrecoverable past, but a constant rejoicing over joys present and to come. There will be no past there, but a present more tangible than this, which is ever slipping from us, and a future far brighter and more certain than any that earth can afford. Strange that men should fail to look at heaven in this light! For thoughtless youth, to whom the world is new and bright, and pleasure sparkles with a luring gleam, there is some little palliation for neglect of the things of heaven; but what shall we say of him who has passed the golden bound, for whom all giddy pleasures have lost their glow, and nought remains but the cares and anxieties of life? Of what worth is earthly pleasure to him who has already drained its cup to the dregs? Of what worth is wealth and honor to the frame that has already begun to descend the slope of time? All these baubles would be gladly sacrificed for the return of that youth which has passed away; and shall they not be given up for that eternal youth which shall not pass away? We mourn for departed loved ones, but what would be our grief and despair if death were annihilation—if we knew that we should never meet them again in all eternity? But we feel that in heaven the olden love shall be renewed; that the forms that now are mouldering in the dust shall be recognized and greeted there, and that the friendships created here shall ripen there in close companionship through never-ending cycles; and thus is death robbed of half its terrors.
But the way to this fount is through a straight and narrow gate, and 'few there be who find it.'
Alas! how unsatisfactory are even the choicest blessings of life! Wealth brings only care, and the millionnaire toils all his life for—his food and clothes and lodging; dies unregretted, and is soon forgotten. Honor brings not content, and does but increase the thirst it seeks to assuage. The poor and the unknown are generally happier than the wealthy and famous. 'Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity and vexation of spirit;' and what was true of human nature when 'the preacher' wrote, is true to-day. Admit that life is but a succession of pleasures that can never pall, and the world one vast Elysian field, and that the care of the soul requires the abnegation of every delight, and spreads a gloomy pall over all the brightness of earth; yet even in that case, a life wholly devoted to spiritual interests were but a weary, temporary pilgrimage, which we should gladly endure for a season, in the hope of the golden crown and never-ending bliss in the world beyond, could we but look upon the future life in the light of reality. Ah! there is the difficulty, for we are 'of the earth earthy,' and, although we may fervently believe, cannot comprehend, cannot realize eternity. To too many Christians of the present day eternity, heaven, God, are not a tangible reality, but rather a poetic dream, floating in the atmosphere of faith, but which their minds cannot grasp. Hence they worship an idea rather than a reality.
The noblest pleasures of life, in fact the only real, permanent, exalting, and, I might add, developing pleasures, are divided into two classes, those of the heart, and those of the intellect. Yet both, though different in their action, spring from the same central truth.
The happiest man is he whose life is spent in doing good, seeking no other reward than the gratification of beholding the true happiness of his fellow beings. His pleasures are of the heart, and he only is the true Christian of our day and generation. For he who so ardently loves his fellow men cannot but love his God.
The pleasures of the intellect can never pall, but do constantly increase and brighten, because in them the soul enters its native province and acts in that sphere which is its own for all eternity. Yet how do they all lead the mind up to its great Creator! Not a single discovery in science, not an investigation of the simplest law of nature, not an examination of the most insignificant bud or flower or leaf; and, above and beyond all, not an inquiry in the great truths of morals, of ethics, of religion, or of the very constitution of the mind itself, but at once, and in the most natural consequence, reveals the power and the goodness of God—brings God himself as clearly before us as he can be manifested to our fettered souls. Yet if these pleasures too were but temporary, if they were to pass from our sight with all our other earthly surroundings, the pursuit of them would but beget disgust and discontent, and they would be classed with the fragile things which awaken no feelings of awe, nor enhance the glory of the soul. But thank God! they will endure forever. Truth is eternal—its origin is coeval with the Creator, and, like Him, it shall have no end.
Hence all real pleasure is from God himself, and leads directly back to him again. And he who, appreciating the truest joy of existence here, makes such themes his study, should and will seek the only prolongation of those delights which shall carry them alone of all life's blessings with him across the dark river, in the worship and adoration of that omnipotent Being from whose hand these gifts descend, who alone can perpetuate them when time shall have passed away—that God who 'doeth all things well.'