Fancy may legitimately employ this story as setting forth for us under a lovely image the facts of Christian death, if only we acknowledge that such a use is entirely the work of fancy. But, making that acknowledgment, may we not make the use? Is not Death, too, God's messenger to souls that love Him, mighty and beauteous, though his face be hid'? Would it not be more Christian-like, and more congruous with our eternal hope, if we pictured him thus than by the hideous emblems of our cemeteries and tombs? He comes to Christ's servants, and his touch is gentle though his fingers are icy-cold. He removes only the chains that bind us, and we ourselves are emancipated by his touch. He leads us to the iron gate that leadeth into the city,' and it opens to us of its own accord.' But he disappears as soon as our happy feet have touched the pavement of that street of the city which is pure gold, as transparent as glass,' and in the midst of which flows the river of the crystal bright water of life proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.' Then, when we see the Face as of the sun shining in his strength, we shall come to ourselves, and know of a surety that the Lord hath sent His angel and delivered' us from all our foes and ills for evermore.
