University of Virginia Library

The Festival of Family Reunion.

Scene I.

one of the streets of Heaven. Enter Jeanie and Hugh.
Jeanie.
How strange that we all should be here together!—
So hard to expect, that bleak black day
When your poor body was borne away,
Through the dreary, though sunlit weather;
Borne by bearers, slow but fleet,
From the house of the tree-roofed street;
Taken by men with solemn tread,
And placed in the vault with the rest of the dead—
That we would be ever again united,
That your dark room would again be lighted!
I heard the voice of the preacher, saying,
“He is not dead! He has gone before!”
I heard the hymns, the sobs, the praying,
And tried to believe, and hope even more;
But reason said, “Be strong and clever;
March on and give him up forever!”
His life has fallen into a sea
Of other life; a raindrop clung
To a branch that over the ocean hung,
And was a picture to you and me;
You marked its delicate shape and glitter,
And loved it well, and called it yours;
But it fell in the great waves cold and bitter;
So how can you say, “It still endures!”
And Faith cowed down at command of reason,
Hope crept away with a look of treason,
And everything was bleak and cold
As clouds when the winter day is old.
But then my tired-out heart said over
Some words that once to it had been taught;
I found them within a Bible's cover,
And comfort home to my heart they brought.
Yet still the living will wonder whether
They and the dead can meet together,
Still the others will wonder instead,
How the living can call them dead.
Now all of our band excepting one—
And she most loving and most dear—
Are met together, sojourning here;
But souls just with the earth-life done,
Have told me Mother would soon be near.
She comes through the Gate of the Narrow Way;
I will watch for her—I must not miss her—
I will be the first, this gala-day
To cuddle her in my arms and kiss her!
Then I will lead her—Heaven's new star—
Where our brothers and sisters are;
Then I will make our father's eyes
Into a gleam of glad surprise!

Hugh.
But, sister, we know not just the hour
When she will come; though faith be steady,
To say, it is not within our power,
But Mother is here in Heaven already.
Even now, she may meet the others,
Talk with our father, sisters, brothers;
Now in the new-old home be waiting
Fondly our whereabouts debating,
As in the earthly times, when we,
Out for an afternoon of glee,
Came home late to the homestead nest.—
Of earth's angels brightest and best,
And most fitted for Heaven, she
Will feel more at home than we.
How do we know, but in this throng
We have passed her? Many and long
Gather the years since her embrace;
Maybe we would not know her face.

Jeanie
(reproachfully).
Know her! Give me even so much
As her eye-gleam—her hand's sweet touch—
A tone of her voice—her step—nay, less!
Even the rustle of her dress—
And I would know her! But, 'tis late;
Hasten we on to the Narrow Gate!

Scene II.

the same. Enter the spirit of an aged lady. She walks up and down as if looking for some one. The brother and sister pass on the opposite side of the street without seeing her.
Aged Lady.
I am in Heaven!—in Love's metropolis,
Faith's resting-place, Hope's loftiest mountain-top;
Prayer's last request, Virtue's supreme reward:
The never-ceasing Harvest Home of Life!
Yet how its wonders daze and frighten me,
And put my earth-imaginings to shame!
'Tis what I thought, and yet not what I thought;
'Tis what I felt, and yet not what I felt;
'Tis what I knew, and yet not what I knew.
O Ruler of all realms, be good to me—
A plain old woman from that plain young world—
And if not pure enough to see thy face,
Or if too humble for thy voice and hand
(No wonder, coming from the least of stars),
Pray send me pilotage; for 'tis a state
Most strangely sad—this being lost in Heaven!

[Jeanie and Hugh disappear in the distance without her seeing them. Enter a little girl, dressed in white.
Little Girl
(clasping Aged Lady's hand).
Lady, as these domes you pass,
Just let loose from worldly being;
Earth still, like a darkened glass,
For a moment dims your seeing.
Soon Heaven's wonders you shall trace,
Heart to heart, and face to face;
Soon this City land explore,
Having learned, with sweet endeavor,
How to learn and prosper more—
How to find new joys forever.
Now, till from old fetters free,
I your faithful guide will be.

Aged Lady.
Thanks, modestly precocious maid of Heaven,
But I have many dear old friends in town—
Friends who have loved me—friends who would not wait
A moment if they knew I waited them.
Why! on the earth, for half a hundred years,
When I from distance-shadows reached home's light,
Friends met me with soft kisses and warm smiles;
And would they let this long, dark journey cease—
A journey they had taken, and so knew
What it would be—without even silent words
Of welcome—yes, a long and sweet embrace?
There's some mistake; they did not get the word!

Little Girl.
God has undiscovered ways
Here within his narrow portals;
Oh, they puzzle even the gaze
Of the wisest of immortals!
Angels know not all His plan,
Even on earth, with humble man;
Much less, in this serial story,
Of his god-bewildering glory!
But, sweet lady, never fear;
No pure joy on earth is given,
But, all glorified and clear,
Can be reproduced in Heaven.

Aged Lady.
Oh, sweet-voiced girl, so wise beyond your years,
Are earthly houses e'er rebuilt in Heaven?

Little Girl.
There's no place where memory
Goes for tidings good and pleasant,
None where love and purity
Have been found, but here are present.
All best things on earth are mere
Shadow-copies cast from here;
All earth's good has, on this side,
It's original glorified.

Aged Lady.
Sweet girl, one time, that far-off earth contained
A grand old mansion on a city road,
Yet with its little field of lawn embraced—
A stately, prosperous pile, and still a home.
Vines nursed their pretty children of green leaves,
And buds, and flowers; and the well-guarded door
Reached out its brass hands for all those to shake
Who came with kind intent. No honest Want
E'er went away, except with grateful smile.
Sweet children raced and shouted through its halls,
And mimicked older life in sports and games;
Here hearts and hands clasped in true-thoughted love.
A thousand eves did hospitality
Light up those halls with kind and welcome guests,
'Mid floods of light and life and happiness.
But Time and greedy Commerce have pulled down
Our refuge, and have left of it no trace.
Great, huckstering shops are spread upon the lawn;
The world came past and swept our home away.
I have not even its picture for my eyes,
Though it has long been painted on my heart.
Think you that I might not see, just for once,
A picture of the dear old house in Heaven?

Little Girl.
Wishes are fulfilment here,
When with God's desires agreeing;
Turn and look; your home is near;
Heaven in Heaven awaits your seeing.

[The Aged Lady turns and views the old house, evidently smiling recognition at her. She bursts into tears.
Little Girl.
Joy should plume your heart with wings!
Do you weep at pleasant things?

Aged Lady.
Alas! on earth we do so learn to weep—
The habit even follows us through joy;
I thank you, angel girl—I thank Thee, God!
'Tis the old house once more—'tis Heaven in Heaven!

Scene III.

A room in the new-found old mansion. The Aged Lady walking up and down, alone.
Aged Lady.
The same old home, in the Great Home restored!
Each loved hall's floor my practised feet have pressed;
All nooks and corners my glad hands have found;
My eyes have fed on each familiar scene.
All is the same! Restored—I must believe,
By well-taught angel hands—how faithfully!
And every room had tales to tell to me
Of loved old times; and every wall had tongues,
And talked a while about the dear dead days;
But ah, what empty rooms! Not one sweet face
Of all those loved ones! Oh, kind-hearted God,
Does loneliness pursue us even in Heaven?
Home ne'er was home when husband was not there!

[A door opens and her husband enters. They rush to each other's arms.
Husband.

Aged Lady.
My children, children, children—are they here?

[A door opens, and five of her loved ones enter, conducted by the Little Girl guide, who then disappears.
Aged Lady
(clasping them one after another).
My loved, lost children! found, and found in Heaven!
Children and homestead both together found!
Now Heaven be praised, for Heaven is Heaven at last;
Now, once again, we learn that home is Heaven!

Scene IV.

same.
Aged Lady.
Come, let us camp around the family hearth,
And visit, as in those sun-gilded years,
When we were happiest; let once more our eyes
The watch-fires of old memories kindle bright;
Let's barter news for news, and thoughts for thoughts,
Play toss-ball with the old love-cushioned jokes,
And set the air to singing with our laughs.
And yet 'twould seem, oh, sweethearts of my prime,
As if, in these long, slow, oft-counted years,
You must have larger, stronger, older grown.
But here you meet me, young and blooming still,
Just as you seemed in our best, happiest days.
A miracle!

Husband.
All things are “miracles,”
Whether in earth or Heaven, till we have found
Their law and reason. Early here we learn
That wishes oft are their accomplishment.

Aged Lady.
And yet I grieve that you, being all so young,
Must meet the mother, crookéd, bent, and worn,
And not so comely as she was of old;
For, trust me, I was not so hideous then,
And had, I fear, some sinful worldly pride.

[All the others laugh merrily.
Husband.
There was a picture in our dear old house,
That I sometimes have seen you glance upon;
View it once more for me, and tell me true
If 'tis as then. Look in yon gilded frame.

[Aged Lady turns, and gazes, where he points, into a mirror. She sees herself reflected as a beautiful middle-aged woman. All laugh, pettingly, at her surprise.
Husband.
The earthly count of years counts not in Heaven;
All are as one in everlasting prime,
Free from youth's follies and the bars of age;
Though each may change appearance as he likes,
And as shall suit his Heaven-born purposes—
From old to young, or young to old. The soul
Can often change the body's looks on earth;
A million times as much the spirit-form!

Scene V.

library of the mansion. Parents and children assemble for prayers.
Mother.
It seems so strange to pray, now we are given
So much we toiled and prayed for! Still, true prayers
Are partly thanks; and though each separate one
Reached through eternity—and it were then
By millions and by millions multiplied—
'Twere not enough to give our God for Heaven;
And 'tis our duty, from this vantage-ground,
To plead for those who suffer still on earth.

Husband.
You know it was a favorite plan of ours,
In each day's first-formed prayer, to counsel well
What I should ask for; oft thus giving aim
To the petition; let us counsel now.

Wife.
Good customs wear but brighter with the years.
How sweet that good devices ne'er grow old!
Yes, I have prayers—thousands of silent prayers—
That I would love to have you lend a voice,
And proffer for me, even here in Heaven:
For misled mortals, who on earth still creep
Through thorns of others' wretchedness and vice:
For mothers, in eternities of pangs;
For fathers, in proud, sad solicitude;
For youths and maidens, when temptation smiles;
For those who struggle in disease's clutch;
For those who strangle in the sloughs of crime;
For ships that fight through battles of the storms,
And mortals clinging to their dripping sides;
For wrecked ones, hanging to the ocean's top;
For toilers, stifling in blockaded mines;
For wayward feet that led hearts into fire;
For mangled forms beneath unflinching wheels;
For those who starve, with treasures round them stored;
For those whose blood has rusted murderers' knives—
Much more for murderers with crime-rusted souls;
For those who breathe the fogs of pestilence;
For prisoners in unjustly-welded chains—
Still more for those whose punishment is just;
For sick ones—hating life and dreading death;
For mourners with their wounded hearts entombed;
For suffering every way and everywhere;
Nay, if it be not wrong—for spirits lost!

Husband.
The same sweet soul, with pity in each throb!
And for yourself, can you no favor ask,
Or (as pure wish in Heaven for one's self
Is the accomplishment) can you not tell
Of some dear want, which, if it has been met,
You know not of the granting?

Wife.
Husband mine,
You know the babe that lived but one short hour;
She was our last bud from the vines of Heaven.
And I, 'mid throes of pain, was comforted,
Because, I mused, her sweet and winsome heart
Would cherish me when our dear older ones
Had grown away from us. But one short hour—
One hope-strewn, fear-strewn, pain-strewn hour—she lived.
How much I have been thinking of her, dear—
Have longed for her! Say, have you ever seen
This sweet-breathed baby of our later love?
I yearn so sadly for her!

[Enter the Little Girl guide, and rushes into the mother's arms.
Little Girl.
I am she.