HOME by Horatius Bonar Afflictions
are preparing for us a more abundant entrance, a weightier crown,
a whiter robe, a sweeter rest, a home made doubly precious by
a long exile and many sufferings here below. However desperate
our earthly warfare may be, it is not forever. No, it is brief,
very brief. Its end is near, very near, and
with the end come triumph and honor and songs of victory. Then, too, there follows peace
and the return of the war-worn soldier to his quiet dwelling. This is the joy of the saint. He has fought a good fight. He
has finished the course. He has kept the faith. There
is laid up for him the crown of righteousness. His battle
is over, and then, for him, there are rest and home. Home, yes,
home! And what a home for us to return
to and abide in forever! A home prepared before the foundation
of the world! A home in the many mansions! A home nearest the throne and
heart of God! A home whose peace shall never
be broken by the sound of war or tempest, a home whose brightness
shall never be overcast by the remotest shadow of a cloud. How solacing to the weary spirit
to think of a resting-place so near, and that resting-place
our Father's house, where we shall hunger no more, neither
thirst any more, where the sun shall not scorch us, where the
Lamb that is in the midst of the throne shall feed us and
lead us to the living waters, and God himself shall wipe away
all tears from our eyes. The time is at hand. The conflicts
are almost over. Our struggles and sorrows are
nearly done. A few more years and we shall
either be laid quietly to rest or caught up into the clouds
to meet our coming Lord. A few more deaths, and then we
shall be knit together in eternal brotherhood with all the scattered
members of the family. A few more suns shall rise and
set, and then we shall ascend in its strength the one unsetting
sun. A few more days shall dawn and
darken, and then shall shine forth the one unending day. A few more clouds shall gather
over us, and in the world shall be cleared for ever. But a few
brief years, and we shall enter in through the gates into the
city, sitting down beneath the shadow of the Tree of Life, feeding
upon the hidden manna, and drinking of the pure river, clear as crystal,
which proceeds out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. But a
few brief years, and we shall see his face, and his name shall
be upon our foreheads, We have only the foretaste now. The full
brightness is in reserve, and we know that all that is possible
or conceivable of what is good and fair and blessed shall one
day be real and visible. Out of all evil there comes the
good. Out of sin comes holiness. Out of darkness, light. Out of
death, life eternal. Out of weakness, strength. Out
of the fading, the blooming. Out of rottenness and ruin, loveliness
and majesty. Out of the curse come the blessing,
the incorruptible, the immortal, the glorious, the undefiled. Our present portion, however,
is but the pledge, not the inheritance. The inheritance is reserved for
the appearing of the Lord. Here we see but through a glass,
darkly. It does not yet appear what we
shall be. We are now but as wayfaring men,
wandering in the lonely night, who see dimly upon the distant
mountain-peak the reflection of a sun that never rises here,
but which shall never set in the new heavens hereafter. And
this is enough. It comforts and cheers us on
our dark and rugged way. It would not be enough hereafter,
but it is enough just now. This wilderness will do for us
until we cross into Canaan. The tent will do until the Eternal
City comes. The joy of believing is enough
until we enter on the joy of seeing. We are content with the
mountain of myrrh and the hill of frankincense, until the day
breaks and the shadows flee away. Home by Horatius Bonar