I have thought much lately of the possibility of my leaving you all and going home. I am come to that stage of my pilgrimage that is within sight of the River of Death, and I feel that now I must have all in readiness day and night for the messenger of the King. I have sometimes had in my sleep strange perceptions of a vivid spiritual life near to and with Christ, and multitudes of holy ones, and the joy of it is like no other joy,--it cannot be told in the language of the world. What I have then I know with absolute certainty, yet it is so unlike and above anything we conceive of in this world that it is difficult to put it into words. The inconceivable loveliness of Christ! It seems that about Him there is a sphere where the enthusiasm of love is the calm habit of the soul, that without words, without the necessity of demonstrations of affection, heart beats to heart, soul answers soul, we respond to the Infinite Love, and we feel his answer in us, and there is no need of words. All seemed to be busy coming and going on ministries of good, and passing each gave a thrill of joy to each as Jesus, the directing soul, the centre of all, “over all, in all, and through all,” was working his beautiful and merciful will to redeem and save. I was saying as I awoke:--'Tis joy enough, my all in all,This was but a glimpse; but it has left a strange sweetness in my mind.
At thy dear feet to lie.
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly.
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[513]
To a friend she writes a little later--
Houghton, Mifflin and Company, The Riverside Press, Cambridge, 1889.
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