go up to read afresh the brief inscription on Mr. Moody's grave on Round Top, "The world passeth away, and the lust thereof; but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever." We sing the same great truth constantly in George Matheson's hymn:
"I lay in dust life's glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be."
I wrote the other day to a friend about her sister-in-law's death, and this was the last sentence of the letter which she wrote in reply:
"I do not know if he"—that was her brother—"told
you how beautiful it was at the last; how S's face
lighted up with such an expression of surprise and adoration,
with her eyes open to their fullest extent, and then it
was all over. Only a glimpse into the life that was not to
end could have brought such a look to a human face."
"And that life," said He Who was the life, "I
brought with Me and will give to you."
Let us lift our hearts to the life that shall endless be, to the liberty on which there never lay a chain, to the light of the land that hath no need of any sun, because the "Lamb is the light thereof," the land of the new morning and the tearless life. The thief cometh—let him not come in!—only to kill, and to steal, and to destroy. "I am come, and I stand at the door and ask you now to let Me in, that you may have life abundantly."
