(A Dream)
IT was the 31St of December, a cold, frosty night. I sat beside my cheerful fire, conversing with a loved and honored friend who was about to depart on the morrow. “Will you sit up till twelve o’clock?” I asked, as my guest rose to retire for the night. “I prefer,” he replied, “to spend the last hour of the year alone, if you will kindly permit me to do so; and I must make some little preparations for my journey, as I go by an early train tomorrow.” He took up a Railway Guide which lay on the table, looked it over, named the hour at which he would leave, and bade me “good night.”
Having given the necessary orders for an early departure, I sat alone by the fireside, musing over the events of the past year, the pleasant intercourse that I had enjoyed with my friend, his homeward journey on the morrow, and the happy meeting with the loved ones, from whom he had been for a time separated. I took the Railway Guide in my hand, glanced carelessly over its columns, thought of the numerous journeys that I had made in the past year, and of many traveling companions who had passed from time into eternity. Serious thoughts of death and judgment became confusedly blended in my mind with other ideas, a drowsiness stole over me, and with the book still in my hand I fell asleep and dreamed.
Methought I stood in a large and spacious building; it was a railway station. A crowd of persons was assembled, waiting for a train. Among them I recognized several familiar faces—a dear brother whom I had not seen for some years, an invalid friend who seldom quitted her sick chamber, and the venerable pastor whose faithful teaching I had long valued and enjoyed. All were about to take a long journey to a far distant country. It was no excursion of pleasure, not even a matter of choice; all were acting under an inevitable necessity, and no one asked another, “Why are you here?” or “Where are you going?” This much I knew, but no more; and though desirous to gather information, a certain serious and solemn expression in every countenance rather awed and deterred me from asking questions; so I spoke not, but silently studied the forms and features of my fellow-passengers. A group in one of the waiting-rooms attracted my special notice. It consisted of two young women and a little boy. They were conversing in subdued tones of some dear friend who had preceded them to the distant country; and in reply to a remark from the child, I observed one of them produce from her pocket a book which I supposed to be a guide to the unknown land, and turning over the pages, she pointed to a line which he looked at, and softly repeated, “I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.”
In a corner of the same room sat an aged man, alone and solitary, though in a crowd. His silvery hair told of some fourscore years, which had evidently brought to him their full share of labor and sorrow. He also studied a book exactly like that which I had seen in the hands of the young woman; his eyes were fixed intently on the page, and I heard him slowly murmur, “Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside Thee. My flesh and my heart faileth; but God is the Strength of my heart and my Portion forever.”
I now left the waiting-room and walked to the extreme end of the platform, and looking across the line of rails, perceived by a dim light what appeared to be another platform, upon which a crowd of persons were hurrying to and fro in confusion and disorder. I could not distinguish among them any one whom I knew; and as the light of a lamp fell now and then upon the face of one or another, it revealed an expression of reckless gaiety or sullen discontent. “Are those people going with us?” I inquired of an official who stood by. “No,” he replied with a mournful shake of the head, “they are on the wrong side; they are going by the down train.” I was about to ask more, when he silently handed me a book precisely similar to that with which my fellow-passengers were provided, and then hastened away. As I opened the book, these words caught my eye: “Destruction and misery are in their ways; and the ways of peace have they not known.”
A sudden tremor came over me: a vague sensation of dread. I turned away, and returned to the spot where my friends were still patiently waiting. In their society the feeling of terror subsided, and I again became calm. At this moment it struck me that the unusual quietness was caused by the absence of busy porters hastening here and there with heavily-laden trucks. Not a trunk, a carpet-bag, or package of any sort was to be seen. “Where is the luggage?” I asked of my brother who was now beside me. “Luggage!” he repeated in a tone of surprise, “do you not know that none is allowed in this train, and none is allowed in the country to which we are going?”
A secret consciousness that I ought to have known this as well as he kept me silent. He gently drew my book from my hand, opened it, and directed my attention to these words, “For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.”
An earnest desire still possessed me to know something more of our destination. I wished to meet with some person who had traveled to, and returned from the distant country, but instinctively felt that there was not such a one in our company. I attempted to study my book, but in vain; words and letters danced before my eyes; I could not read a line. Approaching our venerated pastor, who sat a little apart from the rest, I resolved to open a conversation with him, and asked with some timidity, “What shall we do when we arrive within sight of that far away land to which we are going?” A radiant smile lighted up his countenance, an unusual brightness shone in his eyes, as, lifting his hand with an air of triumph, he replied: —
“Like ransomed Israel on the shore,
There shall we pause, look back, adore!”
The railway bell rang loudly—I started and awoke. The fire had burned low in the grate. The Railway Guide had fallen from my hand. The bells from a neighboring church tower struck out a noisy peal; presently they ceased. Slowly and solemnly fell the strokes of the church clock as it tolled the midnight hour. Twelve—and the year was gone!
Reader, you, too, are bound for a journey. Whether you will or not, you must go. Are you on the right side? Are you booked for the right place? Are you studying the Guide? Are your thoughts fixed upon the “luggage,” “the goods,” “the stuff in the house” which soon will perish in the using, or are you happily conscious of having in heaven a better and an enduring substance?
Christian Traveler, are you sometimes cast down and discouraged by the difficulties of the way? Are you faint and wearied in your mind? Be not dismayed; lift up your head, rejoice, for “now is your salvation nearer than when you believed.” It may be that you lament the loss of the companions who set out with you, but who have one by one passed away, and left you to finish your journey alone. Cling, then, to the Friend that sticketh closer than a brother, even the Omnipresent Friend Who departs with those who go, Who tarries with those who remain, “Who is the same yesterday, and today, and forever.”
As passing years bring you nearer and nearer to your journey’s end, let your last days be your best days. Speak earnestly, faithfully, lovingly to all around you. Tell them what Jesus has done for your soul. Tell them to look unto Him and be saved. Tell them it is all lost time looking elsewhere for pardon, peace, and salvation. Tell them out of your own happy experiences—
“I looked to Jesus, and I found
In Him my Star, my Sun;
And in that light of life I’ll walk
Till traveling days are done.”
(By permission, Stirling Tract Depot.)