  There is a border land that lies just beyond this everyday life, but not within the bounds of dreamland. We call it, for want of a better name, “The land of fancy, or of waking dreams.” A young mother lay in her white bed, and close in her arms nestled the little soul whose life journey was just beginning. It was twilight time, and the mother lay half asleep, half awake, close on the confines of that border land. The rain beating on the window, the fire purring in the grate, played a soft accompaniment to her thoughts. “What will my little baby’s life be,—happy or sad?” questioned the mother. “Oh, dear All-Father, if I might know!” thus she prayed. And while she asked and wondered, a soft rustle by her bedside caused her to glance up. Above her and the sleeping baby leaned a tall bright angel, in garments soft and white like snow, with folded wings like the petals of some great white lily. “What is it,” wondered the mother; and a soft voice answered: “I am your baby’s angel. Your prayer has been heard. Look.” And the mother, following the angel’s glance, saw at the foot of the bed three gray shapes, three mysterious woman forms. There they sat, solemnly regarding the little one. In the hands of one was what the mother knew to be a distaff; from it, a fine thread passed to the baby’s hand. “Ah, that is why you clasp your hands so tightly, my darling, lest you lose the thread,” said the mother. The next sister held a pair of shears in her hand; her eyes were sad and downcast. The last one had empty hands, but she spoke with authority, and she said: “Sisters, this new soul is bound for the city on the heights of Peace. How shall she reach it?” Then spoke the one with the distaff: “Ah, sister, she is little and weak. She is a woman child. May she not go by the way that leads through the valley, where there is pleasant shade, and the birds sing all day long?” The eldest answered: “Who that takes that route reaches the city? Do they not wander away into the defiles of the mountains, and the heights are lost to them? Nay, sisters, she shall go by the way of tears till she come to the wayside cross.” Then the pitying one raised the shears to cut the tiny thread of life, but the other stayed her hand. “Let me read to you her destiny,” she said. The angel bent low over the mother and child. “Be strong, be courageous,” he whispered; and the mother’s fears were stilled. Then spoke the Fate: “This soul shall early be acquainted with sorrow; and the angel of pain shall walk hand in hand with her. But close beside shall walk the angel of patience. Her little feet shall be pierced with thorns and bruised with cruel rocks. But beside the stony path sweet flowers will bloom. She will hear the lark sing up in the blue, and at every turn in the path she will look backward and see that she is climbing higher. Sometimes, to strengthen her, shall be given her glimpses of the wonderful city. And always her guardian angel shall be with her to minister to her. Glimpses of the Wonderful City shall be given to her. Glimpses of the Wonderful City shall be given to her. “As the years go by, she will not journey alone. She will be happy, for love will lighten the way. Then suddenly shall she come to the wayside cross. There a great horror of darkness shall settle over her, her strength shall be taken from her, and she shall lie with her face in the dust. “But at the cross, the clouds will separate, the mists roll away, and she will find her journey almost accomplished. For behold, from it a wonderful stairway of pearl and gold leads up into the heart of the city; and her loved ones will hasten to greet her, and stretch out their hands to help her on her way. She will have gained the heights of Peace, and will be an inhabitant of that wonderful country, a citizen of the golden city.” Then the mother, weeping tears of sorrow and of joy, was satisfied, and the tiny baby stirred in its sleep, and nestled closer to her heart. |
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