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THE SICK MAN'S DREAM.
A venerable gentleman of New England, yet living (1847), and well known to many of the learned and the good of our land, was once brought low by sickness; when, during a deep sleep, he was perceived to be strongly affected by some powerful dream. His watchers, fearing for the enfeebled vital principle, should this excitement continue, awaked him. Nothing was then said on the subject by either party, [illeg.] till many years afterwards, when he related to a friend the vision which he had in that sleep, of those whom he had lost by death. He thought himself at the gate of Heaven, just entering on his rest, and saw things too great and glorious to be told. He heard a voice say, “Who will conduct this spirit to his seat?” Then came forth, from among the shining multitude, an angel band to meet him: one after another answering.—“I will conduct my son,”—“I will conduct my husband,”—“I, my father,”—“I, my brother.”
When I was sweetly, sweetly passing hence,—
When I had nearly joined the happy band
Bearing the palm-branch, in the spirit-land?
When my faint soul the balmy air had breathed,
Fresh from through flowers by angel fingers wreathed,
Where sat the Dove within the Tree of Life,—
How could ye call me back to pain and strife?
Seen the bright throng whom God alone can count!
I saw the ransomed walk with folded wing,
Save when they veiled their faces near their King!
I heard their harping on the golden chord
Sound with the anthem, “Holy is the Lord!”
I saw the beaming of the martyr's crown!
Yet, from them all, to dust I'm hurried down.
They who had taught my infant lips to pray.
I saw the mother of my children there,—
She who had trained them up with faith and prayer.
Our cherub offspring there were gathered, too,
Plucked up from earth, like buds in morning dew,—
Gems for the Saviour, naught can stain or dim;
He called, we gave, our little ones to him.
Changed to a glory round his forehead worn.
Near him, our sister wore her smile of love,
Now made a sweeter, quenchless light above.
There sat our friend, once full of self-distrust;
Pure—single-hearted—high—among the just.
There was the meekness which had here been spurned,
Raised, and sublimely into honor turned.
Whose sweat and blood had cried from out the ground—
Righted, as Justice on that Throne gives right;
White, as the blood of Christ alone makes white;
Eased of their burdens,—franchised from the yoke;
Healed of the blows that flesh and spirit broke;
Free,—in the fields and air of heaven set free;
Heirs of the kingdom,—blest as souls can be!
While priest and rich man walked the other side,
Giving, the one, perhaps, of alms a crumb,
Loud while the other prayed, Thy kingdom come!—
I saw that Lazar made so rich and fair,
Kings here might wish to be the beggar there,—
Saw tears, that were in dust and sackcloth shed,
Lit up to stars on many an humble head!
What souls unveiled and sainted may but know.
Wait we awhile; we then shall upward spring,
Earth but the foot-rest where we spread the wing,—
Up, up! and enter our eternal rest,
Heirs of the Lord, our heritage possessed;—
All that was mystery while our years revolved,
Life, Death, Redemption, there in glory solved!
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