Morning
Time: 3:47 AM PST
"At evening time it shall be light." --Zechariah 14:7
Oftentimes we look forward with forebodings to the time of old age,
forgetful that at eventide it shall be light. To many saints, old age is the
choicest season in their lives. A balmier air fans the mariner's cheek as he
nears the shore of immortality, fewer waves ruffle his sea, quiet reigns, deep,
still and solemn. From the altar of age the flashes of the fire of youth are
gone, but the more real flame of earnest feeling remains. The pilgrims have
reached the land Beulah, that happy country, whose days are as the days of
heaven upon earth. Angels visit it, celestial gales blow over it, flowers of
paradise grow in it, and the air is filled with seraphic music. Some dwell here
for years, and others come to it but a few hours before their departure, but it
is an Eden on earth. We may well long for the time when we shall recline in its
shady groves and be satisfied with hope until the time of fruition comes. The
setting sun seems larger than when aloft in the sky, and a splendour of glory
tinges all the clouds which surround his going down. Pain breaks not the calm of
the sweet twilight of age, for strength made perfect in weakness bears up with
patience under it all. Ripe fruits of choice experience are gathered as the rare
repast of life's evening, and the soul prepares itself for rest.
The Lord's people shall also enjoy light in the hour of death.
Unbelief laments; the shadows fall, the night is coming, existence is ending. Ah
no, crieth faith, the night is far spent, the true day is at hand. Light is
come, the light of immortality, the light of a Father's countenance. Gather up
thy feet in the bed, see the waiting bands of spirits! Angels waft thee away.
Farewell, beloved one, thou art gone, thou wavest thine hand. Ah, now it is
light. The pearly gates are open, the golden streets shine in the jasper light.
We cover our eyes, but thou beholdest the unseen; adieu, brother, thou hast
light at even-tide, such as we have not yet.