Beautiful Heaven Quotes, Part 19

Beautiful Heaven Quotes, Part 19

Compiled by Grace Gems

At Home in Heaven (Charles Deems)
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? We know the difference between the two, when applied to places upon earth. There are many kinds of residences; there is but one home. A lunatic asylum, a penitentiary, the place where we must live--but do not want to live, is a residence. The only real home a man has upon earth, is the spot in which he would rather be than in any other. The place in which he gets most rest, most comfort, most solace, most satisfaction to every craving of his nature--that is home. How do we look forward toward Heaven? Is it simply the termination of the journey, where, in the natural course of things, the pilgrimage ceases? Such a state of affairs may occur to a man who has gone from his home, and whose business or duty has taken him across the ocean to a foreign port. There he may have to stay all the days of his life, and behind him leave wife and children, father and mother. He looks forward with interest to his arrival. He would rather be there, than on the stormy ocean. But it is not home. Now, how do we feel toward Heaven? Is it simply the end of the road we must travel as Christians, and which we must terminate somewhere, sometime; or have we longings for it? Does it come into our dreams? Do thoughts of it often lift our souls as the tides lift up the seas? Do we feel that every other residence is a tent--but Heaven is our mansion; that we go to every other place because we must--but are stretching ourselves to be in Heaven because we would? Are we Heavenly-minded and Heavenly-hearted? If so, we shall be at home in Heaven. It may be so sweet, so delicious, so satisfactory, so fulfilling, as to come in sudden and sublime contrast, with all our previous experience. In this sense it may, for a brief season, be startling and somewhat strange; but if we have been spiritually-minded upon earth, each new moment of Heaven will bring us the fulfillment of some hope, or the completion, in shouts of laughter, of some song which we had begun upon earth, and which had been drowned in sobs. It will be the being "forever with the Lord" that will make our Heaven. "Forever with the Lord?" Why not now with the Lord? Is not our present life a part of "forever?" If now with the Lord, if our communion be with Him, if we are learning His ways and walking in His companionship here, and are to be learning His ways and walking in His companionship in Heaven--then why should we not be at home in Heaven? The angels come down to earth. They have their mission of ministry. Their duties probably take them, sometimes, into places where they feel very strange; but there must be other spots amid the circumstances of which even angels must feel very much at home. Where a family is consecrated to God, where perfect love prevails, where Jesus reigns, where the Father's will is done in earth as it is in Heaven--oh! surely there the good angels must feel at home. How blessed is the work of the angels and the men who are striving more and more to make earth like Heaven, so that the denizens of the one shall be the citizens of the other.
Fitness for Heaven (Anonymous)
In visiting an art gallery or conservatory of music, our enjoyment will be in the ratio of the previous training and development of our tastes and sympathies in this direction. As those entertainments would be to the blind or deaf, so would the joys of Heaven be to the lost sinner. Place him under the very shadow of the tree of life, and he would say, "I don't want to be here!" Heaven must be begun upon earth. We must carry its bud in our hearts here--or we can never see its full blossom hereafter. Entrance into Heaven is not the result of a foreign force lifting as into an unknown sphere. It is the result of a process begun in time. The Church is God's training school, where the appetites and affections for the joys of Heaven are developed. Our great work is not merely to get men into Heaven--but to prepare them for it. When they are ready, they will be there soon enough. Our characters are now catching colors which will survive the judgment day. What gigantic importance this gives to time! During our brief years on earth, our characters are impressed for eternity. Death will be the artist closing the watch, and announcing the process completed, and the impression then made cannot be altered. The soldiers used to say when a comrade fell, "Poor fellow, he has received his discharge." But death is not a discharge. It is only a transfer. It takes us to the judgment seat, and leaves us as it found us. The direction which the main current of our affections and aspirations has taken upon earth, will there become fixed. Let us not lose the opportunities now passing, or we lose the inheritance. Let us not miss the tide, or it will be forever too late!
No Sorrow There! (Daniel March)
This earthly life has been fitly characterized as a pilgrimage through a valley of tears. In the language of poetry, man himself has been called a pendulum between a smile and a tear. Everything in this world is characterized by imperfection. The best people, have many faults. The clearest mind, only sees through a glass darkly. The purest heart, is not without spot. All the interaction of society, all the transactions of business, all our estimates of human conduct and motive--must be based upon the sad assumption that we cannot wholly trust either ourselves or our fellow-men. Every heart has its grief, every house has its skeleton, every character is marred with weakness and imperfection. And all these aimless conflicts of our minds, and unanswered longings of our hearts--should lead us to rejoice the more in the divine assurance that a time is coming when night shall melt into noon, and the mystery shall be clothed with glory.
THE END! (Anonymous)
Have you, my dear reader, thought seriously of the end? The end of this day--the end of this month--the end of this year--the end of this life? Indeed, the end of all earthly things? The end is surely coming! It may be near! The end will soon come! This life is short and uncertain at the best. A few more rising and setting suns--and we shall be gone numbered with the dead. The end may come when you are not looking for it! You hope for long life, many days yet. You may be saying, "Tomorrow shall be as this day, and much more abundant." But God may say to you, as he did to the rich man of old, "You fool! You will die this very night! Then who will get everything you worked for?" The end may come suddenly, like the flash of the lightning, or stealthily as a thief in the night. "For in such an hour as you think not--the Son of man will come." The end may come when you are not prepared for it--not prepared at all, or poorly prepared for it. Are you prepared for it now? What assurance have you that you would be in the future? "Procrastination is the thief of time." O, what shall the end of all earthly things be to you? Would sudden death--be sudden glory? "And if the righteous are scarcely saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" "But sin, when it is finished, brings forth death." "For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."
The Better Home American Sunday-School Union, 1835
"Home is a sweet word," said a poor sick young woman whom I once met in a journey. She was going to her friends in a bad state of health, and seemed to think she should not recover. "Sick or well, living or dying, home is a sweet word." "True," answered I, "home is a sweet word: it is sweet to live surrounded by those we love; and it is sweet to receive the last acts of kindness from their hands. When we are in a distant place, surrounded by strangers, it is sweet to think that we shall one day be at home. And must it not be sweet to the pilgrims and strangers on earth, to think of their heavenly home? that happy place, where pain and disappointment never enter? that place where the inhabitants shall no more say, 'I am sick;' where 'there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying; and where God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.' We can know little of that home until we get there. We can know no more of it than is revealed in the Bible. From that we learn that it is a holy as well as a happy home. That 'there shall never enter into it anything that defiles;' that those who dwell there 'have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.' Do you remember those descriptions in the Bible?" She answered, "Our priests do not allow us to read the Bible." "I am sorry to hear it--sorry, indeed, that when God has required you to 'search the Scriptures,' man should forbid you to read them. You said you thought you would not get well; do you think you are prepared to die?" "No, but I hope to have time to prepare myself." "And how do you intend to prepare yourself? By what means do you expect to make your peace with God?" "I do not know; but the priest will tell me, and I will do whatever he says." "You are then willing to follow the directions of man--are you equally willing to follow the directions of God?" "My priest will tell me the will of God." "Suppose some kind friend had left you in his will, on certain conditions, a great estate, a happy home--would you not wish to see the will; to read it, or at least to hear it read; or would you be content with the account another person might give you of a matter in which you were so much interested?" "Surely, surely, I should wish to see the will; to read it myself; to know the very words of it." "Let me tell you then, that the will in which your heavenly Father promises his children a home of eternal happiness, is the Bible; and yet you leave it neglected and unread, without a wish to know from it how that inheritance is to be obtained. We are now about to part; I feel interested for you; and it would be a great relief to my mind to think that you would read your Bible; that you would seek there to know the will of God; to be reconciled to Him through his Son; guided by his Spirit, and received at last into his glory; so that though we meet no more on earth, we may one day meet in that home where parting is no more." So I gave her a Bible. "I do promise you," said she, "I do promise to read the Bible." We had now reached the place of separation; and as I took my lonely way homeward, her simple and natural remark again occurred to my mind; and I could not help inquiring whether I looked forward to my heavenly home with the same joy and satisfaction that my fellow-traveler had in looking forward to an earthly one. There is, thought I, a resemblance in what we look for in the different homes. She expects to meet a tender parent, kind friends, comforts in her affliction; peace and rest after sorrow and suffering. And is there not in that home which is prepared for the children of God, a tender parent who "pities those who fear him even as a father pities his children?" Yes, whose love exceeds even that of a mother to her infant child; for "though she may forget her child," says the Lord, "yet I will not forget you." Do kind friends wait for her in her earthly home, and have not the children of God in their heavenly home "a friend that sticks closer than a brother?"--one who has been a "brother in adversity?" "touched with the feeling of their infirmities," and "afflicted in all their afflictions?" She also expects to meet with comforters. And what a sweet name is that which is given to the Holy Spirit, "the Comforter!" It is He who pours balm into the wounded mind, and cheers the child of sorrow, and makes known to us the grace of the Savior, sheds abroad in our hearts the love of God, and seals our pardon. Surely those who have been thus comforted by him here, must remember that sweet name through all eternity, while they rejoice in his presence. Does not the prospect of rest after labor, and peace after troubles, cheer the mind? And must not those who "are in heaviness through manifold tribulations"--those who are mourning for the sinfulness of their hearts and lives--rejoice in the prospect of that rest which remains for the people of God, where they shall be free from sin as well as from sorrow; where they shall no more offend their heavenly Benefactor, no longer grieve his Holy Spirit, but spend a happy eternity in praise and love? There is a resemblance between what my fellow traveler expected, and what the children of God look forward to--but in one circumstance there is a material difference. If she finds at home all that she hopes to find, she cannot be certain of its continuance for a day, or even an hour. How soon may sorrow, how soon may death enter her happy home! How soon might she be deprived of those whose society makes it home to her--how soon may she herself be snatched from them! But it is the happiness of the blessed in Heaven, that their home is unchangeable and eternal. Eternity is connected with every idea of Heaven--it is included in the very name. If those who are there could suppose that at the end of ever so many years, even thousands of thousands of years, their happiness would cease--it would be no longer Heaven to them. Eternity is one of the chief causes of their happiness. Is such a happy home offered to us--yet can we have such few and feeble desires after it? Is this earth so free from sin and sorrow, that we can be as happy here as we wish to be? We are commanded to live above the world while we live in it, and to have our treasure in Heaven. Happy is he who can feel and love the truth of the following hymn: There is a glorious world of light Above the starry sky; Where saints, all clothed in robes of white, Adore the Lord most high.