AT HOME IN HEAVEN

Will any soul that reaches Heaven feel strange there? Will it seem a foreign country? Will all its sights, and sounds, and suggestions be totally unfamiliar? Will they make no responsive note on any chord of the harp of memory? Will they shed no ray of light on the lens of hope? There are many of us who are looking forward to a residence in Heaven. Will it be more than a residence? Will it be a home?-Charles F. Deems, D.D.

OUR HEAVENLY HOME

Home! Oh how sweet is that word! What beautiful and tender associations cluster thick around it! Compared with it, house, mansion, palace, are cold, heartless terms. But "home!"-that word quickens the pulse warms the heart, stirs the soul to its depths, makes age feel young again, rouses apathy into energy, sustains the sailor in his midnight watch, inspires the soldier with courage on the field of battle, and imparts patient endurance to the worn-down sons of tcil. The thought of it has proved a seven-fold shield to virtue the very name of it has been a spell to call back the wanderer from the paths of vice. And far away, where myrtles bloom and palm trees wave, and the ocean sleeps upon coral strands, to the exile's fond fancy it clothes the naked rock, or stormy shore, or barren moor, or wild highland mountain, with charms he weeps to think of, and longs once more to see. Grace sanctifies these lovely affections, and imparts a sacredness to the homes of earth by making them types of heaven. As a home the believer delights to think of it. Thus, when lately bending over a dying saint, and expressing our sorrow to see him lie so low, with a radiant countenance rather of one who has just left heaven than of one about to enter it, he raised and clasped his hands, and exclaimed in ecstasy, "I am going home."-Rev. T. Guthrie, D.D.

THE GLAD HOME-COMING

The mother whose son has been absent from her for many years in the far West, seeking his fortune, looks at the sunburned and bearded man who has come back to her, hesitates a moment, and then throws herself into his arms, crying, " It is my boy! I know him by his eyes."

The child you go to mect among the immortals will be transformed and glorified, indeed, but there will remain the strong lineaments of the human soul, deep-traced by the facts of the present life. The sure instincts of human nature will survive the shock of death, and not all the disguises of robe or crown or palm can hide us from those we love. Neither time nor distance rules the soul, and the strong affinities of the human heart would guide us to the right place in the shining throngs, did no helpful hand lead us, and did the happy angels only smile the while we made our search.

Thou hast sung thy last song? Ah, minstrel, no, no! There are harps in the country to which thou shalt go; And to thy sweet playing the angels may sing,

And thou shalt be glad in the courts of the King.

Nay, your loved one will be on the watch for you. And often as he leaves heaven's school or concert, he will ask, "Have any of my people come?" As an ocean steamer comes in from its voyage, at first the watchers on the deck see only the dark throng of undistinguished men and women and children on the dock. Near and yet nearer we come. The crowd parts, it moves to and fro, we see the hats and handkerchiefs wave; but at present we recognize no face. But at last, at last, lips tremulous with emotion, exclaim, "Oh, I see father!" and another says, "There's my sister!" How strangely do laughter and sobs keep company in the very same face, until the tumult dies as loving arms intertwine, and heart beats on heart. The death visions that many have are not illusions;

The

whether seen or not, the shining throng is around every dying form. wearied body at last is broken, but the newborn soul is greeted by the warm welcomes of heaven, and the harps of angels hush to listen to the music of human speech, for the "better country" has nothing sweeter than human love; and seraphs would be jealous when mother and children meet, had they not found their deepest joy in the gladness of other hearts.

Your child is not dead. Like the Christ, he is "alive for evermore." He is busy and happy in thoughts of you. He is preparing for you a reception, and he has been telling his new friends that it must be the finest thing that heaven has had in a thousand years.-Samuel G. Smith.

Friends, even in heaven, one happiness would miss
Should they not know each other when in bliss.

-Bishop Thomas Ken

Death often serves as the magnet that compels our restless wavering spirits. away from earth toward the borders of their future home. With every attraction to the unseen world, whether through the passing thither of a friend, or through our own fancied approach to its mysterious shores, we acquire a new interest in it, until at last our hopes and aspirations begin to centre there. The invisible drawbridge has been let down, and we fancy the forms of familiar, or of shining presences upon it. We feel with Whittier:

Another hand is beckoning us,

Another call is given;

And glows once more with angel steps
The path which reaches heaven.

COMING

It may be in the evening,

When the work of the day is done,
And you have time to sit in the twilight
And watch the sinking sun,

Where the child has found its mother,
While the long, bright day dies slowly
Over the sea

And the hour grows quiet and holy

With thoughts of Me;

While you hear the village children
Passing along the street,
Among those thronging footsteps
May come the sound of My feet.
Therefore tell I you: Watch!

By the light of the evening star,
When the room is growing dusky

As the clouds afar;

Let the door be on the latch

In your home,

For it may be through the gloaming

I will come.--Randolph.

CHRIST IN HEAVEN

I read a little story not long since which went to my heart. A mother was on the point of death, and the child was taken away from her in case it would annoy her. It was crying continually to be taken to its mother, and teased the neighbors. By and by the mother died, and the neighbors thought it was better to bury the mother without letting the child see her dead face.

They thought the sight of the dead mother would not do the child any good, and so they kept it away. When the mother was buried and the child was taken back to the house, the first thing she did was to run into her mother's sitting-room, and look all around it, and from there to the bedroom; but no mother was there, and she went all over the house crying, "Mother, mother!" But the child could not find her, and then said to the neighbor: "Take me back; I don't want to stay here if I can't see my mother." It wasn't the home that made it so sweet to the child. It was the presence of the mother. And so it is not heaven that is alone attractive to us, it is the knowledge that Jesus, our leader, our brother, our Lord is there.-D. L. Moody.

Nothing is farther than earth from Heaven; nothing is nearer to Heaven than earth.-J. C. Hase.