The Tree of Life
Waking up to conscious existence in the midst of a garden, it would seem as if man had not entirely forgotten the wonderful vision on which his eyes then opened. At least, there is no passion more general than the admiration of beautiful flowers. They kindle the rapture of infancy, and it is touching to ?eo how over the first king-cups or daisies its tiny hand closes more eagerly than hereafter it will grasp silver coins or golden. The solitary blossom lights a lamp of quiet gladness in the poor man’s chamber, and in the palace of the prince the marble of Canova and the canvas of Raffiielle are dimmed by the lordly exotic with its calyx of flame or its petals of snow. With these companions of our departed innocence we plait the bridal wreath, and, scattered on
IB the coffin, or planted on the grave, there seems a hope of resurrection in their smile, a sympathy in their gentle decay. And whilst to the dullest gaze they speak a lively oracle, in their empyrean bloom and unearthly fragrance the pensive fancy recognises some mysterious memory, and asks, —
“Have we been all at fault? Are we the sons Of pilgrim sires who left their lovelier land? And do we call inhospitable climes By names they brought from home?”
But in the midst of that primeval Garden the eye was arrested by two objects, of v/liicli the counterpart cannot now be found in the field or the forest. One of these was “the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,” — regarding which God said, “Thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.” The other was “the Tree of Life,” which possessed a supernatural virtue. To eat of it was to live for ever. Its fruit was the antidote of death and the means of sustaining man in his original immortality.
The Tree of KncwlcdGre was a test of obe- (hence. Any act of transgression would have forfeited man’s tenure of Paradise; but in making a covenant with Adam God was pleased to select one special form of abstinence as the criterion of his self-denial and his loyalty. Around this Tree, so “good for food” and so “pleasant to the eyes,” the Supreme Lawgiver reared a fence, and saying, “Thou shalt not eat of it,” He concentred man’s attention on a single point, and, so to speak, reduced his trial to a single issue. But the subtilty of Satan and the attractions of the forbidden tree proved too strong for man’s loyalty. He took the tempting fruit. He ate, and was undone.
The Tree of Life was a token of the Creator’s preserving care and a memento of the creature’s dependence. What like it was we do not know, but it possessed a marvellous efficacy. As long as man ate of it he could not die: and it has been ingeniously suggested that the protracted lives of the antediluvians were owing to the power of this Paradisaic antidote lingering for ages in the human constitution. But however this may be, the Tree was a type of the one Great Source of Inimortality. It taught the creature that ho was not his own preserver. It reminded him that the “Fountain of Life” was external to himself, and that the only security for his own life’s prolongation was the constant command of this soul-gladdening and life-confirming sustenance. And most likely every time that he partook of it he was conscious of an intenser immortality Possibly the consummation of each day’s lightsome labour, and coincident with those visits of his Heavenly Father which made so welcome the cool of the day, we can imagine him resorting to the spot where stood the sacramental symbol, — its very continuance a sign that on either side the covenant continued still inviolate, — devoutly stretching forth his hand to the laden bough, and whilst he and his partner ate the mystic fruit, which filled all tlisir being with celestial joy- and raised them nearer tb the angels, overhearing from above the voice of God, answering with their evening hymn, and then sinking into hallowed slumber beneath the sacred shadow.
After man’s transgression, the Tree of Life ceased to be accessible. Lest, in his desperation, man should rush to it, and by its mistimed use entail on himself immortal misery, God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, and with a flaming sword and cherub-sentiiiels guarded every avenue. And now the gates of the primeval Paradise are closed. That short dispensation is ended. That covenant is broken beyond all possibility of reparation; and in this world there is no longer any innocent creature to whom God can say what he said to Adam, “Do this and Uve.”
But there is still a Tree of Life. Instead of abandoning our guilty race to self-entailed destruction, in His unspeakable mercy, God has interposed, and in the mission and atonement of His own dear Son has provided a salvation for sinners of mankind. And throughout the inspired records, the Saviour and His work are repeatedly introduced under the veil of this most ancient emblem.
In Ezekiel’s vision of the Temple Waters we are told, that on the bank of the river “shall grow all trees for meat, whose leaf shall not fiide, neither shall the fruit thereof fail: every month they shall bring forth fruit b2
6 t.’klliLEMS FROM EDEN.
nXresli: and the fruit thereof shall be for meat, find the leaf thereof for medicine: “a passage predicting that great outburst of Gospel bless’ ings with which the Church of Christ is yet to surprise herself and renovate the world, and which connects itself so obviously with John’s vision of the New Jerusalem: “And lie showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the .street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the Tree of Life, which bare twelve fruits, and yielded its fruit cvcrj month: and the leaves of the Tree were for the healing of the nations:” or, as it has been rendered in the pleasant rhyme of that forgotten bard who long since sang “Jerusalem, my happy home:” —
Thy gardens and thy gallant walks
Continually are green;
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen.
Quite through the streets, with silver sound.
The flood of life doth flow;
Upon whose banks on every side
The trees of life do grow.
These trees each month do yield their fruit,
For evermore they spring;
And all the nations of the world
To thee their honours bring.”
So profuse is the immortality, and so universally accessible are the blessings of this happy region, that either prophet speaks in these passages as if the trees of life were many: just as elsewhere, with allusion to His manifold operations and offices, the one great Comforter is called “the Seven Spirits of God.” Elsewhere, however, where precision and personality are required, the primitive unity reappears; and in the promise to the faithful of Ephesus we read, “To him that overcometh will I grant to eat of the Tree of Life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of God,” — repeated and extended in the last page of the canon, “Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may have right to the Tree of Life, and may enter in through the gates into the city.”
In our present contemplation of this celestial Tree we shall restrict ourselves to its health-restoring and life-sustaining efficacy.
The pre-requisite to all enjoyment is health.
You are sick, and your little sister brings in a snowdrop from the garden, or a sprig of verbena from the conservatory, and you take it with a languid smile, and lay it beside your pillow, and hardly look at it again. And your brother comes in and shows you a splendid present which has just been sent you, or he opens a letter and announces that the lawsuit is gained, and that you are heir to a noble property: but the pain just then is exquisite, and in this intensity of torture there is nothing you desire but deliverance from anguish. Or in the adjoining chamber a charming melody is played; but you beg them to leave off, for the noise is driving you distracted.
And so, spiritually, there is no health in us; but the whole head is sick and the whole heart faint. Desire has failed. The soul of man takes no interest in the objects which once stirred it with liveliest emotion; but whether it be in the dull discomfort of habitual ungodliness, or in the acuter paroxysms of sinful passion and guilty remorse, those objects which fill a holy universe with delight are the objects of the sinner’s aversion or contempt. And were you saying to him, “Here is a pearl of great price which your Elder Brother has sent you from the far country: this is a letter announcing that our Advocate has gained the case, and secured for the members of this family the fair inheritance of Heaven,” he would only listen “with languid curiosity; and were you inviting him to take part in any of those holy recreations which form the pastime of spirits pure and healthy: “Listen to this description of God’s love. Let us sing together this psalm of thanksgiving,” the invitation would only vex him. But Christ is the cure of sin. His atonement pacifies the conscience; His Spirit purifies the heart; His person, — the life He led, and the words He spake, — give new and endearing views of God. And just as in the days of His earthly sojourn, to go to Him was to be cured of what disease soever any man had, so now that He is exalted a Prince and a Saviour, it is to bestow repentance and remission of sins; and if you go to Him, whatever be your nature’s malady, He will make you whole. If covered with sin’s leprosy, and ashamed to carry into a Presence f-o pure defilement so repulsive, moved with compassion He will say, “I -will: be thou clean,” and that word of kind omnipotence will make you a new creature. If prostriite in sin’s fever, — if tossed with passion, and delirious with wild desire, — He will take you by the hand and raise you up, and, restored and tranquillised, you will be able to minister to the Master. If sick of the palsy, — if bereft of spiritual power, and shut up in the shakingsepulchre of a dreary and disconsolate existence, trembling for the future, but unable to improve the present, — He will say, “Son, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee,” and like him, who strong in the infusion of a celestial happiness, “took up his bed” and departed to his house, the Saviour’s pardoning word will fill you with immortal youth, and send you on your way rejoicing.
Alexander the Great was dying of a wound which did not seem very dangerous at first, but it baffled his physicians, and was rapidly becoming mortal. One night, however, he dreamed that some one had brought him a peculiar-looking plant, which, when ‘ipplied to the festering sore, had cleansed ind closed it. In the morning when he awoke, he described the plant, and the historian says, that being sought for, it was fbitii:! and applied, and the licry wound was healecl. Now, dear reader, your soul has got a deadly hurt. It has been bitten by that old serpent, the devil; and although the injury may not look alarming at the first, sin has got into the system, and left to yourself you will never recover. The wound gets worse. Your very efforts to heal it, only exasperate it more and more. You have broken the Sabbath; you have taken God’s name in vain; you have been overtaken with strong drink; you have been guilty of some deed, harsh, cruel, dishonest; or you have spoken some word malignant, impious, or untrue: — something has occurred which stounding through your conscience, calls attention to the neglected stab in your nature. And you try to heal it. You lay some flattering unction on the sore. You promise to yourself and to God that you will never do the like again. You form earnest purposes, and you sketch out excellent schemes of daily conduct. You bind yourself to a daily task of Bible-reading; you go iTgularly to church; perhaps in the hope of a decisive benefit, you even force yourself forward to the communion. But nothing comes of it. The damage is too deep. Ungodliness, — the virus that kills the soul, — has got into the blood; it bounds in every rebellious pulse, it breathes in every selfish prayer, it converts into a worse disease each self-righteous palliative; and though for a season your conscience may be soothed, the wound is still deadly, your nature is still unrenewed.
But despised and rejected of men, there is a tender plant known to God, and revealed in the Gospel, which is able to heal you. It is the Balm of Gilead, — the finished work of Immanuel, the substitution in the sinner’s stead, and the satisfaction rendered to Divine justice by God’s -beloved Son. In order to obtain its healing essence, they used to wound the Balsam Tree; and so for our transgressions the Saviour was wounded. In order to give forth in one crowning and conclusive act the merit of His life, lie was obedient unto death, and He made His soul an offering for sin. In the fires of Gethsemane “the green tree” burned, and was not consumed; but in that hour of hot indignation, when His sweat was as great drops of blood falling to the ground, the first drops of this heavenly balm exuded, and when on Calvary His blessed side was pierced, the full current followed. The blood then poured forth, meeting as it did the great maxim in Heaven’s jurisprudence, “Without shedding of blood there is no remission,” and bringing to a climax the vicarious sufferings of the Divine Redeemer, is often spoken of as if it had been the entire price which purchased redemption, and is constantly employed as an affecting synonyme for Immanuel’s atoning sacrifice. “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is shed for many, for the remission of sins.” “Ye are redeemed with the precious blood of Jesus Christ, as of a Lamb without blemish.” “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.”
With its peace-speaking, soul-cleansing efficacy, this precious blood is the balm which God has provided to restore soundness to the sin-stricken nature. Most usually in the vehicle of some “faithful saying,” the Holy fpirit takes the truth concerning Jesus and applies it to the understanding and the heart. In some thoughtful or anxious moment lie sheds a new and endearing light on the sacrifice and intercession of the Saviour; and, whilst surveying the great appointed Antidote, love, thankfulness, and praise, steal into the mind of the beholder. The aspect of the Godhead is altered; and, surrendering to the grace of the Gospel, the rebel is subdued into a penitent, and the penitent is surprised into the gratitude and new obedience of the prodigal restored.
As a North- American Indian once described it to an audience in London: “You know we Indians are great deer-hunters, and when we shoot the deer he runs away as if he was not hurt; but when he gets to the hill, he feels the pain, and he lays down on that side where the pain is most severe. Then he feels the pain on the other side, and turns over; and so he wanders about till lie perishes. After I learned to pray, that pain in my heart increased more severe. I could not sleep. Like the wounded deer I turned from side to side, and could not rest. At last I got up at one or two o’clock at night, and walked ubouf my room. I made another effort in prayer, and said, * O Jesus, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me;’ and before the break of day, I found that ray heavy heart was taken uway. I felt happy. I felt the joy that is unspeakable and full of glory. I found Jesus indeed sweet to my soul.”
A hundred years ago, there was a vigorousminded man and an able scholar, the rector of Wintringham in Lincolnshire. Entering the ministry without love to God or to tho souls of men, for years he spent his professional income on self-indulgence; and whilst the pastor amusctd himself, the people perished. At last his conscience was awakened, and as lys conduct grew correct, his preaching became earnest and arousing. Still he was ignorant of “Christ crucified,” and as his was not the ministry of reconciHation no effect followed his solemn exhortations. He was vexed at the epistle to the Romans: for, hard as he found it to attain a life of superior .sanctity, St. Paul seemed to make no account of human goodness however eminent; and although he read Grotius and Hammond, they did not resolve his difficulties.
But being a man of strong native sense, he could not rest in this uncertainty. Accordingly, one day he “spread the matter before the Lord,” and entreated Him to pity his distress, and guide him by His Holy Spirit into the understanding of the truth. Then taking up his Greek Testament, he read carefully over the first six chapters of the Romans. To his unspeakable astonishment his difficulties disappeared. The righteousness of God was revealed to him. He saw that justification through Jesus Christ alone is the great burden of the Gospel, the grand display of God’s perfections, and the only piinciple of genuine holiness. He rejoiced with exceeding joy. “His conscience was purged from guilt through the atoning blood of Christ, and his heart set at liberty to run the way of God’s commandments, in a spirit of filial love and holy delight; and from that hour Mr. Adam began to preach salvation through faith in Jesus Christ alone, to man by nature and practice lost, condemned under the law, and, as his own expression is, * Always a sinner.’”
But if the balsam of this immortal Tree is renovation to the soul, there is in its very leaves a sanatory virtue. They are “medicine.” They are “for the healing of the nations.” The sayings of Jesus, and the silent charm of his recorded actions, are an influence doing good in the world every day; and no one can come beneath the Tree of Life but straightway his mind is better. Is he carking and care-worn, afraid lest his supplies be cut off, and he be left without a competency? Then at his feet he gathers a leaf inscribed, “Behold the fowls of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your Heavenly Father fecdeth them. Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and take no thought for the morrow.” Is he lonely? mourning friends estranged or buried? Then amidst a musical whisper overhead there falls flickering into his bosom a leaf which says, “If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.” Is he vexed and angry? fuming at some offence, vowing vengeance for some indignity? Then, like a rose-petal, soft and fragrant, there glides down some memorial of
Calvary, or the fifth petition in a well-rcmcmbered prayer; and as it lies upon his heart so calm, his angry spirit cools, and he gets grace to cry, “Father, forgive.” For Christ’s name sake Mr. Simeon was at one time an object of much scorn and contempt in the University of Cambridge; and it was very trying to be a man so marked, that no one would like to be recognised by him or seen walking with him. One day as he strolled along, weary with continual reproach and buffet.mg, he prayed that God would send him some cordial in His Word; and opening his little Testament, the first sentence on which his eye alighted was, “They found a man of Cyrene, Simon by name; him they compelled to bear his cross.” Relating the incident, he added, “You know Simon is the same name as Simeon; and when I read that, I said. Lord, lay it on me, lay it on me! I will gladly bear the cross for Thy sake. And I thenceforth bound persecution as a wreath of glory round my brow.” That was a leaf from the Tree; and as in the instance of that opportune text, it has often happened that the mourner in Zion has come into the sanctuary with some matter too hard for him, or with some thorn in the flesh or some wound in his spirit he has sate down to read or to meditate, and, like the leaf brought into the anxious ark by Noah’s dove, some faithful saying brought home by the Comforter, has turned fear into hope, and languor into life, and sent him on his way rejoicing.
Nor is it only to the individual believer that these leaves bring healing. At this moment numbers of them are blown about the world; and although drifted to and fro, soiled, withered, and fiir distant from the Tree, even in their promiscuous flight they have helped to heal the nations. They banished the gladiatorial games of old Rome, and cured the abominations of classic Paganism. In modern Europe they have extinguished slayery, and around person and property they have thrown a sanction and securities formerly unknown. Even now they mitigate the enormities of war, and with the Sabbath and many softening influences coming in betwixt Mammon and the toiling million, they win an occasional respite for the bleared eyes and blistered hands of Industry. And even when crushed beneath the careless foot, or draggled in the way-side mire, they still emit Iheir heavenly fragrance; and although they may ho only quoted to adorn an idle speech or tale, no tongue can tell how much the Saviour’s holy words are doing to soften the heart of Humanity and purify the air of Time. But if the leaf of this Tree is for medicine, its fruit is for food to the nations of the saved. The person of Immanuel is the great storehouse of the Church’s strength and happiness; and it is by apprehending His character and availing ourselves of His kindness that we are to grow in hope towards God and in personal holiness. For although the Tree of Life is now transplanted to the midst of the Upper Paradise, his branches stretch to “this lower ground:” the blessings which He purchased are brought nigh, even to the hand and mouth of sinners here on earth. And as the fruits of this Tree are yielded in twelvefold succession, there need not be a month in any year, nor a day in any week, in which the soul does not enjoy the tranquillising, invigorating, and sanctifying results of communion with the Saviour.
In Eastern poetry tliej tell of a wondrous tree, on which grew golden apples and silver bells; and every time the breeze went by and tossed the fragrant branches, a shower of these golden apples fell, and the living bells, they chimed and tinkled forth their airy ravishment. On the Gospel Tree there grow melodious blossoms; sweeter bells than those which mingled with the pomegranates on Aaron’s vest; holy feelings, heaven-taught joys; and when the wind blowing where he listeth, the south-wind waking, — when the Holy Spirit breathes upon that ssul, there is the shaking down of mellow fruits, and the flow of healthy odours all around, and the gush of sweetest music, whose gentle tones and joyful echoings are wafted through all recesses of the soul. Not easily explained to others, and too ethereal to define, these joys are on that account but’ the more delightful. The sweet sense of forgiveness; the conscious exercise of all the devout affections, and grateful and adoring emotions Godward; the lull of sinful passions, itself ecstatic music; an exulting sense of the security of the well-ordered covenant; the gladness of surety-EMI’.LLMS FK03I EDKN”.
rigliieousness, and the kind Spirit of adoption encouniging you to say, “Abba, Father;” all the delightful feelings which the Spirit of God increases or creates, and which are summed up in that comprehensive word, — “joy in the Holy Ghost.”
Such was the happy case of Dr. Doddridge when he wrote as follows to an absent friend: “My days begin, pass, and end in pleasure, and seem short because they are so delightful. •I have more of the presence of God than 1 ever remember. He enables me to live for Him, and to live with Him. When I awake in the morning I address myself to Him. and converse with Him; and He meets me in my study, in secret and family devotion. It is pleasant to read, pleasant to compose, pleasant to converse with my friends at home, pleasant to visit the sick, the poor; pleasant to write letters of necessary business by Avhicli any good can be done, and pleasant to preach the Gospel to poor souls; pleasant in the week to think how near another Sabbath is, and oh! how much more pleasant to think how near eternity is, and that it is but a step from Earth to Heaven.”
TIIK TREE OF LIFE. ^3
Were such a state of mind continuous, the beatified existence would become a Heaven on Earth; and the only reason why it is not continuous is, that we wander away from the Tree of Life; we forget what Jesus is, or cease to avail ourselves of His intercession. Accepted in the Beloved, and, whatsoever we do, doing it in the name of Christ Jesus, “our days would begin, pass, and end in pleasure.”
“My Beloved,” says the Church, “is as the apple-tree. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.” Intimacy with the Saviour is happiness, and from that adoring and affectionate communion there should be seen to arise a decisive effect on the temper and conduct.
1. For instance, confidence in God. No man hath seen God, but the only-begotten Son had a most intimate knowledge of the perfections of the Most High; and that knowledge filled Him with ineffable complacency. It was His happiness to know that the throne of the universe is occupied by spotless rectitude, boundless benevolence, and infallible wisdom; and in holding communion with God, He held communion with the holiest of happy beings, and the happiest of the holy, and this infinitely holy and happy being His own Father in heaven. Jesus Christ had perfect confidence in God. In all His doings He rejoiced, and in all His requirements He cheerfully acquiesced, evermore saying, “Father, I thank Thee: Father, Thy will be done;” and undisturbed by one opposing wish, undeflected by one antagonist interest, the mind that was in Christ, and the mind that is in God, were in constant unison. The will of God and the life of Jesus made one music: — the Pattern-^Ian and the manifested Jehovah, and so a perfect Mediation: — Heaven enshrined in Humanity, and Humanity enfolded in the bosom of infinite Love. And whosoever will in meekness sit at Christ’s feet will soon learn right views of God’s character. The representation of God’s disposition, so forgiving, so compassioniite, so fatherly, which He so often gave in His parables and discourses; which was illustrated in His own beneficent career, and at last crowned by His peerless sacrifice; — when a thoughtful eye has fixed upon it and a candid spirit owned its truth, it works a marvellous transformation. Strange prejudices vanish, — prejudices old as memory and deep as sin; and in the society of One whom God hails as His beloved Son, and whom the sinner learns to recognise as his own Divine and adorable Brother, views of the unseen Jehovah break in upon the mind akin to those which inspired and irradiated the Saviour Himself: until in the Maker of vrorlds the spirit finds its truest Father, its kindest and most intimate Friend: until that great and inevitable Being whom the guilty conscience eyed askance as the frowning Spectator of all its actions, and the incubus on all its merriment, becomes the brightness of the present and the hope of the future, the strength of the heart and its portion for ever.
2. An endeared command. To a worldly man the commands of God are briars and thorns. They wound him in his attempt to reach his sinful pleasures, and perhaps he flies into a rage, and kicks against the pricks, — piercing himself through with many sorrows. But just as the naturalist tells us that spines 26 EMBLEMS rnO.^l EDEN.
arc abortive buds, and that if tlicj had been allowed to develope fully, they might have adorned the tree with fragrant blossoms and fair fruits, — so the precepts, which on the dry trunk of Pharisaism stand out as mere prickly prohibitions, expand on the Tree of Life and become equivalent to great and precious promises. Requirements so exceeding broad as the love of God with all the soul, — so very deep as holiness of heart and purity of thought, — so strangely high as good-will to enemies and the repayment of cruelty with kindness; — commands, which to the man trying to earn his own heaven, are only an interruption and a provocation; to the believer in Jesus are “the mark of a high calling,” — the index of the rank to which he himself is yet to rise, — the pledge of eventual perfect holiness. As found on the Tree of Life the thorn has developed into a pleasant fruit, and fraught with his Saviour’s love and fragrant with good things to come, the disciple finds it sweet to his taste.
3. Self-denial. Said our Lord, “If any man will be my disciple, let him take up his cross, and deny himself, and follow me.” The
THE TliEE OF LIFE. 27
fruit of the Tree of Life is tonic and invigorating, and nowhere is self-denial so easy as in the society of the meek and lowly Redeemer. But what is self-denial? Is it sackcloth on the loins? Is it a wooden block for a pillow? Is it pulse or lentil -pottage for the daily meal? Is it a crypt or kennel for one’s lodging? Ah no! In all this fleshpinching there is often a subtile self-pleasing: but when the temper is up to rule the spirit, and over a “manly revenge” to let Christian magnanimity triumph, — that is self-denial. To take pains with dull children, and with ignorant and insipid adults, — that is self-denial. To hide from the left hand what the right is doing: to ply the task when fellow-labourers drop away and lookers-on wax few: for the Lord’s sake still to follow up the work when the world gives you no credit, — that is self-denial. When you might tell your own exploits, to let another praise you, and not your own lips; and when a fancy - touch would make a good story a great deal better, to let the “yea” continue simple yea, — that is self-denial. Rather than romantic novelties to prefer duty with its sober commonplace routine, and to stand at your post when the knees are feeble and the heart is faint, — that is self-denial. From personal indulgence, — from the lust of the flesh and the pride of life, to save wherewithal to succour the indigent and help forward Christ’s kingdom on earth, — that is self-denial.
O cowld we learn that sacrifice, What lights would all around us rise! How would our hearts with wisdom talk Along life’s dullest, dreariest walk!
We need not bid for cloister’d cell
Our neighbour and our work farewell,
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high
For sinful man beneath the sky.
The t?ivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask;
Room to deny ourselves; a road
To bring us daily nearer God.”
4. Wandering on the strand, it sometimes happens that the castaway picks up a golden apple or some bright fruit which reminds him of his own sunny clime, and makes him wish that he were there once more. And so when there is winter in his world, — when joy has fled away and nights are growing dark, the Christian pilgrim sometimes finds at his feet an unexpeeted memento of his heavenly home. It has descended from the Tree of Life, and brought down to Patmos the very air of Paradise; and as he presses to his lips tlic great and precious promise, he can only cry, “Even so, Lord Jesus; come quickly.” He is an exile from Eden, and as there is now little to detain him here, he longs “to depart and be with Christ, which is far better.” “Do you feel reconciled? “asked a friend of the dying Payson.” Oh! that is too cold,” he exclaimed. “I rejoice, I triumph. And this happiness will endure as long as God Himself, for it consists in admiring and adoring Him.” Or as a few days before he wrote to his sister,” Were I to adopt the figurative language of Bunyan, I might date this letter from the land of Beulah, of which I have been for some weeks a happy inhabitant. The celestial city is full in my view. Its glories beam upon me, its breezes fan me, its odours are wafted to me, its sounds strike upon my ears, and its spirit is breathed into my heart. Nothing separates me from it but the river of death, d2 v30 EMBLEMS FRO:^r EDEN.
which now appears but as an insignificant rill, that may be crossed at a single step, whenever God shall give permission. The Sun of Righteousness has been gradually drawing nearer and nearer, and now he fills the whole hemisphere, pouring forth a flood of glory, in which I seem to float like an insect in the beams of the sun, exulting yet almost trembling, while I gaze on this excessive brightness, and wondering with unutterable wonder why God should deign thus to shine upon a sinful worm.”
A frame of mind like this is the vestibule of heaven; and as it is in acquaintance with Christ that such blessedness began, so it is in closer communion with the Saviour that this blessedness expands and becomes the joy of a glorified existence. “To him that overoometh will I grant to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of God.” The Tree of Life is transplanted, and the old Eden is extinct; but for His ransomed God has provided some better thing than that ancient Paradise. In the fair climes of that celestial country there is reproduced in a more exalted rendering all that was bright ar.d beaiiiiful in Adam’s native garden, with this unspeakable enhancement that probation and peril are for ever past and all is now fruition. There is no more curse, and the tears with which our first parents quitted their aboriginal bowers and which since then have been so often shed in quitting a loved home or familiar haunts, will be wiped away on entering a scene whence the inhabitant knows that he will go no more out. The presence of God is no longer limited to the cool of the day, but is itself the day-spring of the glad eternity, — the palpable pervasion and immortal sunshine of the holy place; and “there is no night there.” Nor can sin ever enter. No serpent can scale the brilliant battlements, or cross the crystal river, or glide through the green pastures of that blood-bought Paradise; and the flaming sword which let the ransomed sinner pass, ^nly shuts out the tempter and the fear of evil. Knowing as they are known, overwhelmed with the beatific vision and all those disclosures which it wnll require eternity to study and comprehend, there will be no inducement to snatch forbidden fruit or intrude into hidden mysteries; and now. that the cherub-sentinel has changed his station, and now that the Tree of Life grows on either side the river, now that there is no barrier of flesh and blood to interrupt communion with the Saviour, and no sin to hinder access, — the denizen of that free and forgiven country may spend a celestial noon beneath the balmy shadow, and for holier services and yet higher praise may quaff from the clustered boughs fresh draughts of immortal vigour.