"DYING IS BUT GOING HOME."

THE malady from which Mr. Somers had suffered more or less for many years had latterly gained ground, defying all the efforts of human skill to cure or even to relieve any longer. He had expressed a wish that Myra Sherwood could spend a little time as of old in his family, to mingle again with them as a beloved daughter, and be a comfort to those so dear to him, over whose heads hung a calamity of which they tried not to trust themselves to think.

"Take no thought for the morrow," said He who was "touched with a feeling of all our infirmities," and who knew the temptation to loving, anxious hearts; and who, Himself under heavy trial, knew what it was to wish, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from Me."

And because it was not possible that His bitter cup could pass from Him, we often venture to hope that, through His mercy, ours may be allowed to pass us by. Doubtless it is often so; the faith, the humility, the submission, that can go on and say with Him, "Nevertheless, not as I will, Father, but as Thou wilt," is tested and approved, and the cup of sorrow is often exchanged for that of grateful praise. And why? Because for Jesus the cup was penal, propitiatory, sacrificial; as it is written,—

"Now once in the end of the world hath He appeared, to put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself." . . . "So Christ was once offered, to bear the sins of many."

"He was made sin for us, . . . that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him."

"And He is the propitiation for our sins."

But it was "the cup of salvation" to every penitent sinner of every clime and tongue and people, and as such He drank, and left not a drop behind. And because of this, the cup of sorrow in many a trembling human hand is but that of sanctified affliction, and often is pitifully withdrawn when its purpose is accomplished.

"Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them out of their distresses."

"He maketh the storm a calm."

Oh, how blessed after all is the tempest of trial that is hushed by the voice of Jesus!

To Myra's grateful heart, her uncle's wish was the call of duty, and she lost no time in making such arrangements as seemed suitable to the position of her sisters during her absence. Then she joined him in the lovely spot where he had chosen to wait the Master's call, and where, amidst some of earth's fairest scenes, he might contemplate one fairer still, even Him who is "chief among ten thousand and altogether lovely," and say, in prophetic vision, with the Psalmist,—

"I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy likeness."

For some time things seemed to fall into their old places, and Myra felt like a child again with those who had supplied to her the place of parents. She saw and shared the secret anxiety of the devoted wife, who knew that probably her husband's days were numbered, and though together they often poured out their full hearts before God in prayer, no murmur, no gloom, no passion, was suffered to darken the remaining term of hallowed intercourse with the spirit so cheerily pluming for the upward flight.

"Myra, my darling," he one day said, as she sat alone with him on the terrace before his house, where a matchless view of God's beautiful works in nature supplied a fund of emblems of spiritual truth,—"I want you to try and be a great comfort to your aunt when I am gone to sleep. I fear she is sorrowing too much for our short separation, and I sometimes feel inclined to take up the words of our Lord, when His course was nearly run, and to say to her and my dear children,—

"'If ye loved Me, ye would rejoice because I said, I go to My Father.'

"Speak to her often of 'the high calling,' the 'inheritance' 'reserved in heaven,' the 'crown of life' prepared for the children of God. We have had a very happy and much honoured life on earth together, but that is nothing to 'the pleasures at God's right hand for evermore,' which soon we shall enjoy together without fear of another parting."

"I do, I will, dearest uncle," said Myra, gazing with deep and reverent love on the dear face which already seemed to reflect the light of the heavenly world. "We will remember that you are but going into another apartment of our Father's house, closed to us only for a little while."

"That is true, dear girl.

"'Heaven is My throne, and earth is My footstool—'

"And you know 'the throne' and 'the footstool' are both in 'the house.' Those who are living for Jesus, and those sleeping in Him, are not so far apart after all. But of all the cheering thoughts and happy experiences of the soul that reposes its all on Him, nothing, nothing is to be compared with the peace of assured pardon and acceptance through His precious blood. Oh Myra, it is becoming unwelcome, unfashionable, rare, to speak of the true ground of a sinner's salvation. The perfect work of Christ is ignored by His enemies, and too often kept out of sight by His friends.

"Oh, beware, and warn others to beware, of this ungrateful neglect of what is—

"'. . . the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.'

"Why shade it with words that may mean something else? When men speak of the gospel, glad tidings, good news, let not the angelic message be mutilated—

"'Unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.'

"And when man has attained the condition, through that Saviour, which is above angels, and he has a right to sing as they cannot, the dear and chosen theme, of which tongue can never tire, will be,—

"'Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and His Father, be glory and dominion for ever and ever."

"There is a growing danger of that terrible condemnation which the Lord Jesus foresaw when He said,—

"'Whosoever shall be ashamed of Me and of My words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him also shall the Son of Man be ashamed when He cometh in the glory of His Father with the holy angels.'

"What a wonderful possibility what a triumph for Satan with worms of the earth!

"'Ashamed of Jesus! can it be, A mortal man ashamed of Thee?'

"Yes, it is cruelly possible. God save us from such infamous cowardice! Many a professing Christian would not object to own Jesus before an ignorant heathen, who shrinks from showing his colours before the polite worldling or the sneering sceptic."

No visitor to the dwelling would have supposed that death was hovering over it, and known to be so by its inmates—the departing one so calm, so satisfied, so rejoicing!—the watching ones so self-controlled, so Heaven-sustained! And all thus "more than conquerors through Him who loved them."

What is it to be more than conqueror? Many a conqueror has fallen in combat and died on the battlefield, and his country has been able only to weave chaplets for his tomb; but the conqueror through Christ, the Captain of his salvation, shall not only vanquish but triumph! He shall be called from the field of strife to the presence of his King, and, exchanging the sword for the palm, and the cross for the crown, he shall share the glories of a triumph at which angels must wonder, and all creation will rejoice. One with Jesus now by faith, one with Jesus ever in the fulfilment of the covenant of eternal love and grace. Is not this to be more than conqueror?

Sometimes it pleases the Lord God to spare His children all sad leave-taking, and to permit the spirit to take flight at a moment unwatched by mortal eye, and it seems like a translation. So it was now. The cage-door was open by insidious disease, and one sunny afternoon, seated in his easy-chair by the window, with the soft breath of the summer air playing over his placid face, the summons came, the messengers of the Most High softly bore away the spirit, leaving to death and the grave only the toil-worn robe in which its earthly work had been done, its earthly burden borne, to be "sown" in "dishonour" and "weakness" now, to be "raised" in "glory" and "power," when shall "be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory."

The invalid had desired to be left alone while Mrs. Somers walked out a while with her children and niece, and when they returned it was Myra's eye that caught the first impression of the change that had come. Perfect peace, "the rapture of repose," was on every feature, and the yet warm hand rested on the large open Bible, at the fourth chapter of the First Epistle to the Thessalonians, as if, though dead, he would yet speak a last loving reminder to the dear ones left behind,—

"Sorrow not, as others which have no hope; for if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him . . . Wherefore, comfort one another with these words."

And so they did, blessing God for the tender love that provides so sweetly for the need of all His children, both living and dying. What is there in all man's devisings that can thus confidently look beyond the grave, and see that which makes death bearable and sorrow sanctifying? There is nothing—nothing. It is His prerogative alone, who, out of His infinite wisdom and exhaustless love, gave to lost sinners the perfect and powerful religion of Jesus.