Beauty Evolved from Chaos—Future Capacity of Motion—Gleams of the Invisible—Changing into the Divine Image—Crying Out for God—From Barrenness to Beauty—The Glow of the Firefly—The Effulgent Divinity —Sunset on the Prairie—Universal Sense of Beauty—Guardian Angels —Death as Seen from This Side and That—Sunset on the Yellowstone River—A Drop of Dew—Reality of Heaven—The Literal and the figurative—The Spiritual Body—Expanding Glory of Creation—Sunset in Dakota—Lights Dim and Clear—Christ's Unsullied Purity—A Rent in the Cloud—An Imprisoned Lark.

We have been dealing with matters that are related chiefly to the next life. But let us not forget that such matters have a close relation to us now. There can be no doubt that there are correspondences between this world and the world unseen. I would notice a few of these correspondences, so that we may realize how closely we are related to both worlds. If we keep our mind and our heart open to see such correspondences, we shall often be surprised at the vividness of their suggestion. But they are suggestion only. They are not proof. That is not their function. But when an idea is seen in itself to be probable, a vivid illustration will confirm it.

The world is full of such correspondences between the natural and the spiritual. To discover one of these correspondences is in my view a greater achievement than a discovery in science. It is greater because it is a discovery in the realm of spirit instead of the realm of matter. It is no wonder, then, that Emerson says that "such correspondences, if adequately executed, would be the poem of the world."

I will notice a few of those correspondences, that have occurred to my own mind. I might cite many more, but I think these few will tend to fortify the conclusions we have been trying to arrive at. I apprehend that many readers who are not fond of argument will feel the force of illustration. Thus they will have a more vivid appreciation of the unseen than can be conveyed by mere argument. To be sure, there is a greater appeal to the imagination than to the reason. But we must not decry imagination except when it runs riot into mere fancy. Ruskin says: "Imagination is the greatest power of the soul."

Only yesterday my boy asked me a curious question. He wanted to know why so many millions of flowers and other beautiful things that men never saw or will see, were created. I said that the very same thought was in my own mind years ago, but at that time I could find no answer. But I found the true solution since. The true solution is, that God is the Beautiful One, and He naturally—it may be of divine necessity—has to express Himself in forms of beauty. So He creates millions of beautiful things that no man or angel will ever see. In so far as they do see them, and their sense of beauty is developed thereby, that is good, but it is secondary. The primary thing is, that the Infinitely Beautiful One naturally expresses Himself—perhaps must express Himself—in beautiful forms.

I have seen the potter working at his wheel; and it is wonderful to see the beautiful effects he can produce. He can take a lump of clay, and from that shapeless mass of matter he can make vessels and ornaments of rarest beauty. He has no machinery but that simple wheel, but by that and the skillful movements of his hand, he can evolve beauty out of chaos. It made me think of the way God evolved this beautiful world out of chaos at first. There is this difference, that the potter uses mechanical power, and he uses his hands, whereas God uses only His word and will. He spake and it was done; He commanded and all things stood fast. But the effect is of the same order. It is the reduction of chaos into beauty; and though we can produce such effects only in a small way and by mechanical means, it gives us a hint of almighty power and beauty. Yea, and that almighty power, as seen here in such beautiful effects, gives us a suggestion of the transcendent glory of the world on high. Not only so, but we have a vivid hint as to the fact that divine power and grace can transform a sinner into a saint.

One function of the glorified body will be its amazing capacity of speed. Along this line we have even now and here suggestions of wonderful possibilities. You have noticed when on the train the swarm of insects that keep easy pace with your rapid flight. Those insects not only seem to enjoy a race with the train, but to show how easily they could leave you behind, they indulge in all sorts of airy gymnastics, at the same time whirling to and fro, and up and down. What marvellous power of motion is there, if you only think of it! How inconceivably rapid must be the movements of those little wings. It is computed that some of those insects open and close their wings no less than two hundred times in a second. It is amazing. And is it not suggestive of the capacity of motion with which this body may easily be endowed when the cumbrous flesh is changed into the immortal, ethereal body? Since those tiny insects are so wonderfully endowed for their little life here, so aimless as it might seem, what glorious capacities may not be in reserve for us, God's redeemed children, who are to live forever, going forth on God's errands through the wide amplitudes of uncounted starry worlds.

It is truly amazing to notice what glorious effects God can bring out of materials that seem so simple and common. Out of the earth's dark soil, by the action of light and heat, He calls forth myriads of flowers. A heavy cloud, that contains nothing but murky vapor, by the rays of the setting sun is made to flash and glow like a burning sapphire throne. The falling shower, by another action of the sun's light, is painted with rainbow colors so pure that they seem to be reflections of heaven's own beauty. Surely God has flung these glories round about us here to give us hints and promises of the unimagined glories of the beautiful, better land. Not only so, but we have a vivid hint as to how the earthly can be transformed into the image of the heavenly.

It is a law of our nature that we insensibly change into the likeness of that which we behold and admire. Even in outward, material things we sometimes see the working of this law. There is a gorgeous sunset. Come out of the dingy house, and gaze on the scene. The western sky is ablaze with purple and crimson and gold. The radiant clouds stretch out in feathery, fantastic forms, like angels' wings; or pile themselves up in solid blocks of glory, like celestial mountains; or shape themselves into golden bars, like heaven's pearly gates.

As you gaze on that scene, I notice that the lines of your face soften, the eye that was hard grows tender, the whole face loses its careworn, earthly expression, and it is suffused with softened, heavenly light. Your countenance is just reflecting a little of the glory of the skies. And so, when with the spiritual eye we see the beauty of Christ, we begin to be somewhat like Him. When His moral glory is flashed upon us, it transforms us more or less into His likeness. Beholding, though only in a glass, the glory of the Lord, we are changed into His heavenly likeness, from day to day.

Going west, you pass through what seems an endless waste of sage-bush and sand. Perhaps this has continued all day long, and you retire at night expecting to look out again in the morning on the same dreary waste. But in the night the scene has changed. When you look out in the morning the first thing you see is the broad Columbia River, with its banks of green; beyond the river, mountains rise, clothed in green and yellow and purple; then an open space in the nearer mountains reveals others in the distance, enveloped in a blue haze, and crowned with gleaming snow.

What a blessed change from the experiences of yesterday, and how easy and unconscious the transition. And so it will be with many in passing from this life to the next. Dreary and monotonous their life has been, and it seemed at times as if it might go on so forever. But they are nearing the heavenly land; and some night, perhaps when they are not expecting it, they will leave the dreariness and desolation all behind them; they will awake in a world of beauty such as human fancy never dreamed of.

Well do I remember the night when on seeing the sudden glow of a firefly there flashed on my mind the idea of the ease and naturalness with which, after all, this fleshly body of ours may become immortal and glorious. If an insect like that can transform itself at pleasure into a little star, who can say what latent power may be lodged in the body of a glorified saint? Truly, "it doth not yet appear what we shall be." No; but we have hints of it that may well fill us with an adoring hope and joy.

There were times when Christ's eternal power and Godhead could not be quite obscured by the fleshly body, but would shine out through this tabernacle of clay, as we may suppose the shekinah glory of old would shine through every crack or crevice in the temple. It was a hint of the coming glory in which we may all shine by and by.

There is a divine sense of beauty implanted in every one of us. Have you never noticed how the beautiful things in the shop windows attract all the ragged urchins of the street? Yes, they may be ragged and dirty, but the divine instinct of beauty is in every one of them. Whatever is really beautiful—whether it be a beautiful face, or a beautiful sky, or even a beautiful ribbon in a window—is sure to attract and fascinate them.

Now this instinct, which is so universal, is intended, I believe, to have its final and full development in God. He is the Source and Essence of all beauty. All the beautiful things that surround us here are but glimmerings of the Eternal Loveliness. These beautiful things educate and develop our taste for the final and full fruition of the very beauty of God. When we see Him—and not till then—will our sense of beauty be satisfied.

It is curious and very charming to notice the variety of effects of sunsets. I saw a sunset on the Yellowstone River which, though not remarkable in itself, suggested to me the boundless variety of effect. Glinting and shimmering through the green foliage of the trees the distant river was aglow with crimson and gold, reminding me of the celestial "sea of glass mingled with fire," And if we have such beauty and variety here, what unimagined beauty and what endless variety must be there.

Can you cherish the sweet memory of a sainted father, or mother, or child? If you can, that sacred memory will be a purifying, ennobling influence for you all your life long. Our sainted dead are not quite lost to us; the dear face Is seen again as the face of an angel; the familiar tones come back to us like music in our dreams. And these blessed memories do not seem to fade; on the contrary, they seem to grow more vivid and spiritual with the lapse of years. Sometimes, when such memories would make us ashamed of ourselves and our sin, we may try to crush them out of sight and hearing. We cannot sin comfortably with those faces before our eyes, and those tones ringing in our ears. But such memories will not be utterly banished; they come back suddenly, when they are not expected; they pursue us like good spirits from a world unseen. Eternity alone will tell how often a course of sin was arrested, and the penitent wooed to a better life by the memory of a sainted friend. I regard these holy memories as God's guardian angels. They follow us with tender ministries of love; they often raise us when we fall; they lift us above the dull level of the world; they nourish in us higher ideals of purity and blessedness; they foster a more vivid faith in the world unseen.

A dark, heavy, threatening cloud everspreads the face of the heavens. But that cloud is heavy, and dark, and threatening, only on this side. The other side, if we could but see it, is ablaze with heavenly radiance. We can easily imagine that this storm cloud of ours may be seen on the other side by angels, and that they gaze with admiration on its glowing colors, as we gaze in admiration on the golden glories of a sunset. How different the cloud appears as seen from this side and from that. And we may well believe that it is just so with death. Death does appear to us a very dark and heavy cloud; but it is so only when seen from this side. Wait until we get above the cloud, and then what was gloomy will be radiant. Death has two sides; the dark side that is turned to earth; and the bright side that is seen from heaven.

In many of the glorious scenes depicted in Scripture, especially in the Book of the Revelation, it is not easy for us to say how much is figurative and how much is literal. Sometimes in grand mountain scenery, when the clouds settle upon the lofty peaks, we cannot say what is mountain and what is cloud. If we were near the mountain top we might distinguish; but we cannot do so down here in the valley.

So we have in the Scripture a glorious cloud of symbolism hovering, upon the peaks of the eternal mountains; but we are too far down in this valley to discern between what is mountain and what is cloud. We may hope to get higher by and by, and then what is hazy and undefined will be seen in its true form and outline. "Now we know in part; but when that which is perfect is come then that which is in part shall be done away."

On a certain evening, as night was coming on, I stood on the shore of a romantic watering place. The tide was breaking on the sandy beach. The crests of the waves sparkled with phosphoric scintillations. Like a thing of life, the light flashed along the shore; and the green and blue and amber and white of the rippling waves sparkled like incandescent fire. As I looked at the spectacle I thought, as I had never thought before, of the "sea of glass mingled with fire" described by St. John in the Apocalypse. Yes, we have hints here of the glorious things to be seen there. Surely God has flashed these beauties on the earth and sea that through them we might lift our thoughts and our hearts to heaven.

Passing on the train over the vast prairies of South Dakota, I noticed one beautiful effect. The rough posts of the ragged fence we were passing at the moment were gilded by the rays of the setting sun. It seemed as if those rough, ragged posts were fit material wherewith to make the heavenly gates, each of which we are told is one pearl. It seems to be God's intention that this earth, even where it is least picturesque, should give us hints and tokens of heavenly glory.

It seems in the highest degree probable that all the bodily senses that we possess now will be wonderfully intensified and enlarged when this "natural body" passes off, and the "spiritual body" is taken on. I think we have a beautiful hint of this glorious probability in the invention of the telescope and the microscope. By these two inventions we are introduced to new worlds of which we never before had dreamed. By the telescope we are let into the glory of the immense; by the microscope we are let into the marvels of the minute. We never had really seen either the heavens or the earth before. Now, since by an invention of man our sight has been so marvellously quickened, it is surely easy to believe that it will be quickened in a far greater degree when all the powers of this natural body are renewed and immortalized. So then, while the eye of the spiritual body may sweep the far fields of glory, it may also discover worlds of beauty in dew drop, and leaf and flower.

As the moon shines pure and clear in a muddy pool, so Christ shone here in this muddy, filthy world, without the serene lustre of His purity being ever dimmed or soiled. And so we may shine in our poor human way now, but perfectly later on.

It was my privilege lately in crossing the Atlantic, to witness one of those glorious sunsets, which once seen can never be forgotten. Of course the sun sets every evening upon the sea, as upon the land; but several different circumstances must be happily combined to produce the effect I witnessed. It was a Sabbath evening,—a fitting time for such a scene. The day had been calm and bright, the glassy surface of the sea being broken only by the gentlest of ripples. And now the sun had just gone down. The clouds, from the western horizon almost to the zenith, were piled up like very hills of glory, flashing with crimson and amber and purple and gold. The glowing colors of the clouds were Deflected on the sea, with a new and wonderful effect. The gentle ripples of the sea broke up and blended these colors in a manner all its own. What seemed solid in the sky became changeful on the sea. The crimson and amber and purple and gold broke and mingled and glanced and gleamed on the molten sea, until we had before our eyes that very "sea of glass mingled with fire" which John saw in Apocalyptic vision. Oh, surely, God has flashed these beauties on the earth and sky and sea to keep us in mind of the surpassing glories of the beautiful better land.

In the spiritual world, as in the natural, God has made greater lights and lesser lights. Some have more light and some have less. The main thing is, to use well such light as we have. A traveller is making his way home. He is very glad to have daylight, that he may see his way clearly. But when he cannot have daylight, he is thankful for moonlight: and if he has not moonlight he will fain use starlight; and if he has not starlight he will be glad to have even a lamp or taper. The traveller wants to get home, and if so be that he gets home even by a taper light, it is well. And so, I believe that there are millions of heathens who are led home by tapers. Many of ourselves, we hope, God will light home by dim lights. The way seems dark enough, and in the darkness we may stumble and fall; but if we use well the light we have, we shall find our way.

* * * * *

Here is a drop of dew. It is suspended from a leaf. It glints, and gleams, and glows, in the clear morning light. As you look into it, if you are in a contemplative mood, the drop of dew expands into a world; and what a world of beauty! It seems a very paradise, where the redeemer of the Lord might walk; where angels might soar and sing.

* * * * *

Some time ago an organist died in the assured hope that he would be the leader of a heavenly choir. It does not seem far fetched to believe that his ambition is gratified. At this very hour he may be a director of those harpers that are harping upon their harps.

Here is a sketch which we may term "Imprisoned." It was suggested to me by a lark flying into the room, and dashing itself against the windows in its efforts to escape:

Oh! birdie from the blue,
This is no home for you!
In spacious fields of air,
Beneath a boundless sky,
Without a fear or care,
You sang, and soared so high;
I wonder much what brought you here
To this dark room's contracted sphere.

Oh, birdie dear, beware!
Poor fluttering thing, take care!
I fear you'll hurt your pretty wings
Against these hard, material things.
Would you were free to rise,
And seek your native skies,
And from those heights no more to roam,
Or seek a lower, earthly home.
And see! I ope your prison door!
Escape, and sing, and heavenward soar!

Oh! spirit from the blue,
This is no home for you.
In fleshly walls confined
Frets the aspiring mind;
Imprisoned here in human clay,
We pine and long to soar away.
The soul would burst these prison bars,
And find its home beyond the stars.

Oh! heaven born soul, beware!
Poor fluttering thing, take care!
Oh do not hurt your spirit wings
Against earth's hard material things;
A hand some day will ope your prison door!
Oh, glad escape, to sing, and heavenward soar!

These are a few of the many suggestions with which nature abounds, pointing our faith beyond the bourne of time to the eternal glory beyond. But we have no corresponding hints of endless wrath. To be sure, there are suggestions of divine anger, but not that God will be angry forever. Like the sun breaking out from behind a dark cloud,—

"Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face."

Oh yes! We believe that sin and suffering will finally be done away. All the ransomed of the Lord will yet come to Zion with song!

I have thrown in these few illustrations by way of conclusion, thinking they may be a pleasant offset to mere argument.