Morning Star

THE BLISS OF HEAVEN.

Experience teaches us that the world
which we now inhabit is a melancholy
scene of affliction, pain and death.—
Shrouded in gloom and darkness it no
longer blooms in its primeval beauty,
nor exhibits itself as a fit residence for
immortal beings. Sin has spread its
dreadful ravages with boundless profusion
over its whole extent. Sorrows, and
cares, and anxieties, now shed their baleful
effects where the genial influence of
heaven once diffused its delicious blessings.
Sighings and lamentations are the
emotions which swell most frequent in
our bosoms; for we are often called to
mourn over the loss of earthly prosperity,
and the premature departure of our near
and dear friends and relatives to the
world of spirits. But in heaven "God
shall wipe away all tears from our eyes;
and there shall be no more death, neither
sorrow, nor crying; neither shall there
be any more pain: for the former things
are passed away." There, our souls
shall be no longer wrung with grief; for
the last knell of death, will have sounded
in our ears, and the trying conflicts of
mortality will have come to an end. The
strains of mourning will be turned into
the raptures of joy—pain will give place
to pleasure—sickness will be succeeded
by uninterrupted health—the wrinkles of
age will be exchanged for the bloom of
youth—and death will yield to everlasting
life. In heaven, we "shall hunger no
more, neither shall the sun light on us,
nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in
the midst of the throne shall feed us, and
lead us into living fountains of water."
In that blissful abode, troubles and difficulties
will be entirely unknown—the
voice of discord will never be heard—the
wild shriek of despair will never be uttered—but
all will be peace, and harmony,
and melody, and love. Sin will have
no admission there. Its poisonous blasts
will never be permitted to swell amidst
the sweet groves of Paradise. Holiness
will form our character—praise will be
our employment and delight—and joy
will be our constant guest. There, too,
we shall dwell with our Saviour in the
mansions of his "Father's House,"
whither he has now gone "to prepare a
place" for us. "Father," said he, shortly
before he left this world of sorrow, "I
will that they also whom thou hast given
me, be with me where I am: that they
may behold my glory which thou hast
given me; for thou lovedst me before the
foundation of the world. Which language,
together with his own declaration
to his disciples not long before he bade
them adieu, "And if I go and prepare a
place for you, I will come again and receive
you unto myself; that where I am,
there ye may be also," leads us to conclude
that we shall be in his immediate
presence, and likewise, that we shall enjoy
the society of each other in the kingdom
of heaven. What glorious privileges
will these be! How transcendently delightful
to be absent from this theatre of
misery and distress, and to be present
with the Lord, where we shall see him
face to face. And how unspeakably pleasant
will it be to meet again our departed
friends—to be re-united to a dear father
—or a fond mother—or some other beloved
relative, around whose dying bed
we once stood in all the agony of grief—
whom we then bade an affectionate farewell—and
whose expiring groans pierced
our souls with anguish too deep for nature
to have long sustained. And our meeting
there will be "to part no more." It will
last forever. And whilst eternity
shall roll its ample rounds, it will find
us still together in those happy courts.