The Glorifying of Memory

“The angel of God, which went before the camp of Israel, removed and went behind them.” — Exop, xiv. 19.

HERE are times in this life when the angel who went before us walks behind us. I would call these the times of retrospect. The angel of our life is usually in advance of us; it is commonly an angel of hope. Most of us live by the light of the future. Youth looks forward to a coming glory of the earth; age looks forward to a coming glory in the heavens. But I think there is a period between youth and age when the angel of hope gives place to the angel of memory. I allude to that little strip of ground called middle life. It is neither the morning nor the evening; and therefore it neither lives in the prospect of to-day nor in the prospect of to-morrow. And being unable to look forward, it looks back. The angel goes

behind us. Middle age lives more on its memo-THE GLORIFYING OF MEMORY 139

ries than on its prospects. Yet I would not call it on that account a barren age. Is memory to be the only power of the soul which is to have no angel — no symbol of immortality! We speak of immortal hope, of abiding faith, of deathless love. We speak of undying aspiration, of quenchless longing, of indomitable will. Is memory to be the only thing without a symbol of the endless! I have seen the resurrection angel pointing on to the future — walking in advance of the march of man; but is he never to walk behind! Am I always to be told of the great powers which are coming — of the added senses, and the quickened wings of thought! Is there nothing to be done “lest we forget”! Is there to be no provision for memory! We may be planted to-morrow in fairer fields; but our deepest joy in a field comes not from its fairness — it comes from its memories. We may be led to-morrow into pastures new; but our deepest joy in pastures is not their novelty — it is their power to recall. We may be greeted to-morrow by songs unheard before; but our deepest joy in a song is not its freshness — it is its oldness, its ability to wake the past. Oh! there may be beautiful angels in front of us — angels with shining robes, angels with glittering plumes! But if there is no angel behind us — no power that can recall the memories of our native shore, we are disposed to ery, “Carry us not up hence!”

I thank Thee, O Lord, that Thou hast placed an angel behind me — hast glorified the things of memory. I thank Thee that the resurrection angel sits upon the stone where sleeps my buried past, and gives me promise that it will rise again. I do not want to part with my old garments — mean though they be, threadbare as they are. I would have the clothes of my dead past bound carefully in a napkin and laid in a sacred spot. I would not have the moth and rust of time corrupt them; I would not have forgetfulness steal them away. I would not even lose the print of the nails that tore them. I should like, my Father, to ask Thee for an explanation of my pain. They tell me it will be all forgotten — the tears wiped from my eyes. That is only the promise that there will be an angel in front of me. But I want an angel behind me. I do not wish a child’s forgetfulness, but a man’s remembrance. I am not so eager that the tears should be wiped as that the tears should be vindicated. It is easy to expunge — the angel in front can do that; but to explain — that needs an angel at the back of me. Send into my past not a cloud but a sunshine — not an oblivion but a glory! The pledge of my vindicated yesterday is the angel that walks behind.