CHAPTER XX.

OUR CONTINUED LOVE FOR THE DEAD A PROOF OF IM

MORTALITY.

IF it be admitted that there is an all-wise and infinite Creator, it must also be admitted that except so far as we have induced discord and conflict by sin, all our powers and susceptibilities are in perfect harmony with the circumstances of our present being, and with the fact or otherwise of a future state of existence.

Fishes, whose home is in subterranean rivers, are found without eyes. As they are never wanted where no light ever comes, though their ancestors once possessed them, after a few generations nature causes them to be closed forever. If the bird were never to fly, no half-formed wings would be seen, while yet the birdlet is confined to the narrow limits of its shell.

And so of the soul of man: if she had not been predestinated by her Creator for another and an endless state, she would never have been invested with those wonderful powers and capabilities with which we find her so richly endowed, and which so eminently befit and adorn her as an accountable and immortal intelligence.

Look for example at the fact named at the head of this chapter-our continued remembrance of and love for the dead after they have passed from our earthly view forever, and their bodies have crumbled back to dust.

I. This passion or emotion of the soul is so common to all ages and lands that it might almost be called a universal instinct of the human heart. Why was it that the aborigines of our own country were wont to send messages of love by the wild forest birds, to their kindred in the spirit land? Why do some of the heathen kneel annually at the graves of their dead, and whisper "I love you still?" With what unearthly tenderness do we still cling to those whom we once knew and loved in this world, but who have passed from our society to return no more. The bereft mother still loves her darling babe, though its lifeless form reposes in the tomb, and she well knows it is but a mass of corruption. Nor is this all. If she scrutinize that tender tie that connects her aching heart with the departed object of her love, she is conscious that it is not the lifeless clod to which she so fondly clings, but that which thought, and knew, and smiled upon her though the little form it cast off at death-the spirit babe that has soared away to heaven! Hence she sings even amid her tears,

"The great Jehovah from above,

An angel bright did send,
And took my little harmless dove,
To joys that never end."

And still, though assured of its unalloyed happiness in another life, she can never forget it or cease to love

it. From time to time I see her, looking over its playthings or garments long years after the body is dissolved in the tomb, and weeping with an affection as fresh and ardent as on the day when she imprinted the farewell kiss upon its cold and marble brow.

How touchingly is this continued love for the dead described in the following beautiful lines by Miss Priest:

"Over the river they beckon to me,

Loved ones who've crossed to the further side;
The gleam of their snowy robes I see,

But their voices are lost in the rushing tide.
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,

And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue;
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view;
We saw not the angels that met him there,
The gates of the city we could not see-
Over the river, over the river,

My brother stands waiting to welcome me,

"Over the river the boatman pale,

Carried another, the household pet;
Her brown curls wave in the gentle gale,
Darling Minnie! I see her yet.

She crossed on her bosom her dimple hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark;
We felt it glide from the silver sands,

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark;
We know she is safe on the further side,
Where all the ransomed and angels be-
Over the river, the mystic river,

My childhood's idol is waiting for me.

"For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale,

We hear the dip of their golden oars,

And catch a glimpse of their snowy sail;

And lo, they have passed from our yearning hearts,

They cross the stream and are lost for aye.
We may not sunder the vail apart,

That hides from our vision the gates of day.
We only know that their barks no more,

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea;
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.

"And I sit and think where the sunset's gold,
Is flushing river, and hill, and shore,
I shall one day stand by the waters cold,

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar;
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail,
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand,
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale,
To the better shore of the spirit land;

I shall know the loved that have gone before,
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,

The angel of death shall carry me."

A poor helpless girl, a cripple, who was doomed from childhood to pain and deformity, but who, nevertheless, felt all the warm impulses of an immortal nature, thus wrote and sung of "the loved and lost" who had gone before:

"Our buried friends can we forget,

Although they've passed death's gloomy river?
They live within our memory yet,

And in our love must live for ever.

And, though they've gone a while before,
To join the ransomed hosts in heaven,
Our hearts will love them more and more,
Till earthly chains at last be riven.

"I heard them bid the world adieu :
I saw them on the rolling billow:
Their far-off home appeared in view,
While yet they pressed a dying pillow.

I heard the parting pilgrim tell,

While passing Jordan's lonely river,-
Adieu to earth,-now all is well-

Now all is well with me forever.

"Oh! how I long to join their wing,

And range their fields of blooming flowers:
Come, holy watchers, come and bring
A mourner to your blissful bowers.

I'd speed with rapture on my way,

Nor would I pause at Jordan's river:

With songs I'd enter endless day,

And live with my loved friends forever."

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II. Of the same general significance is the interest we all feel in whatever relates to the departed dead, and especially in the fond inquiry, shall we know our friends beyond the grave?" We have no space for the consideration of this question here, and shall return to it in a future chapter; but as a fact needing little proof or illustration, we barely point to it now as an omen of our coming immortality. It is but a phase of the same love that adorns the cold pale corpse with flowers, and builds the monument, sculptures the marble with words of tenderest affection, and for long years afterward bedews the grave with tears.

III. Now we argue that the very existence of this continued love for the dead is in itself a proof of their continued being, and by parity of reasoning, of the immortality of all human spirits. If all souls perished at death, the infinite and all-merciful Creator would have so constituted us that the moment a parent or child or wife or husband was dead, we should cease to love them forever.

Take an illustration from the history of a recent scientific discovery.

For many years previous to 1845 it had been known