Beulah Land

Those who are familiar with John Bunyan’s immortal allegory will remember how he brings his Pilgrims, in the closing days of their homeward journey, into the Land of Beulah. They had left far behind them the valley of the death-shadow and the horrible Doubting Castle in which Giant Despair imprisoned and tortured his hapless victims. In this delightful Beulah-land they found the atmosphere very sweet and balmy. They heard continually the singing of birds and saw an abundance of flowers blooming by the wayside. The sun shone by night as well as by day.

Glorious visions of heaven broke upon them; for they were in sight of the Celestial City, and in their walks they encountered several groups of the shining ones. Here they were not in want of the fruits of the field or the yield of the vintage, for the King fed them with an abundance of all the good things which they had sought for in all their pilgrimage. As they walked to and fro in this goodly land they had more rejoicing than when travelling in regions more remote from their Father’s house. Beside their path were open gates inviting them into orchards and vineyards, and gardens filled with flowers and fruits delicious to their taste. In answer to their questions, the gardener informed Christian and Hopeful that these were the King’s gardens, planted by him for his own delight as well as for the solace of the pilgrims. The gardener invited them to make free of all the orchards and the vineyards, and bade them refresh themselves with the dainties. They were drawing near to the end of their long journey, and beyond the river that has no bridge was the New Jerusalem in all its flashing splendors. They were almost home!

Now it may seem at first sadly at variance with facts to compare the closing years of even the best Christian’s life with that region of Beulah which Bunyan has pictured in such glowing colors. Is not old age commonly a period of declining bodily powers and sometimes of increasing mental decrepitude y Do not the ears often become deaf and the “keepers of the house tremble, and those that look out of the windows are darkened”.’* Does not even the grasshopper become a burden on shoulders that have become weak and weary? All this is indeed true in regard to the physical infirmities that overtake many of Christ’s faithful followers during the latter stages of their pilgrimage. A Christian has no immunity from disease, or poverty, or afBiction, or bodily decline, or death. In these respects the same lot happeneth to all.

Yet there is another side to the picture. Old age is often a period of activity and of high spiritual joy, as well as of ripe experiences of that perfect love that casteth out all fear. It was “Paul the aged” who was rejoicing in the Lord always, and with many a scar on his back and many a dent on his shield went home to glory shouting! They that wait on the Lord renew their strength. Those who have dwelt in blessed communion with God for many a year, and have beheld as in a mirror the glory of their Lord, may find them-THE LAND OF BEULAH. g

selves changed more and more into the same image as by the Spirit of the Lord. It is my purpose to present in these following brief chapters some hearty words of cheer to such of my comrades as have heard the clock of time strike out its solemn threescore years and ten. There is nothing in that sound to frighten us, or to make our lips turn white or our knees to tremble. Rather should this voice out of the eternities quicken our zeal, and fire our ardor, and invigorate our faith, and make us as they whom when the Bridegroom Cometh he shall find watching. I have some hope, therefore, that many a veteran servant of Jesus Christ, when he or she shall peruse these pages, may feel the soft breezes of Beulah-land fanning their cheeks, and the music of Beulah’s singing-birds be heard as a sweet carol from the heavenly climes.

Quite too often is old age represented under the dreary similitude of winter, with its bitter biting winds whistling through leafless boughs, and its frozen clods ringing like iron beneath our feet. In our American climate there is a more genial season that bears the picturesque name of Indian Summer, when nature puts on a sweet smile before the wintry frosts set in, and the lingering foliage is clad in crimson and gold. A Christian life has its bright Indian Summer also. The harvest of good deeds — from good seed sown in early youth — is being garnered. Graces adorn the veteran believer and beautify him like the scarlet glories of an autumn forest. Like shocks of corn ripened in sunshine and shower are those servants and handmaids of the Lord who still “bring forth fruit in old age” that is savory to the taste. Whatsoever may be said of

THE LAND OF BEULAH. iz

the longevity of the mental powers, some of the most beautiful Christians I know of are in the genial Indian Summer of threescore and ten. Their orchards are still as fruitful as the orchards of Beulah, and yield their fruits every month. They are always abounding in the work of their Master.

On a bright July morning in my early youth I was privileged to take a walk with the venerable poet Wordsworth over the picturesque acres that lie around his cottage at Rydal Mount. The sunlight fell on his white locks, and the sunshine of peace fell on his tranquil spirit. Ripe in years, ripe in fame, and ripe in a Christian trust, he was spending his cheerful Indian Summer amid his lakes and his everlasting hills. The grand old poet was fond of repeating the following lines of Mrs. Barbauld, which he said were unsurpassed by any in the English language:

“Life! we have been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; ‘Tis hard to part when friends are dear, Perhaps ‘twill cost a sigh, a tear.

“Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time;

Say not good-night, but in some happier ciime Bid me good-morning 1”

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