have traversed all life's pathway and come at
last to the hour when they stand face to face with themselves, then to
find therein a divine image like unto the comeliness and completion of
Him whose face was transfigured and shone as the light.

At length has dawned the day when science strengthens the argument for
immortality. The dream of the prophet and seer is confirmed in the
light of modern knowledge. "Each new discovery," says John Fiske, "but
places man upon a higher pinnacle than ever, and lights the future
with the radiant color of hope." Leaving his body behind, man journeys
on toward an immortal destiny. Science has emptied a thousand new
meanings into the words of Socrates: "The destruction of the harp does
not argue the death of the harpist." Nature decrees that the flower
must fall when the fruit swells. If the winged creature is to come
forth and increase, the chrysalis must perish and decrease. When the
long journey is over it is natural that the box in which the richly
carved and precious statue is packed should be tossed aside. Swiftly
youth goes on toward maturity, age toward old age, and the scythe
awaits all. But sickness and trouble can do nothing more than dim the
eye, dull the ear, weaken the hand. Dying and death avail not for
injuring reason, affection, or hope, or love.

At the close of a long and arduous career the famous Lyman Beecher
passed under a mental cloud. The great man became as a little child.
One day after his son, Henry Ward, had preached a striking sermon, his
father entered the pulpit and beginning to speak wandered in his
words. With great tenderness the preacher laid his hand upon his
father's shoulder and said to the audience: "My father is like a man
who, having long dwelt in an old house, has made preparations for
entering a new and larger home. Anticipating a speedy removal, he sent
on beforehand much of his soul-furniture. When later the day of
removal was postponed the interval seemed so brief as to render it
unnecessary to bring back his mental goods." Oh, beautiful words
describing those whose strength is declining, whose spirit is ebbing
and senses failing, because God is packing up their soul-furniture
that they may be ready for the long journey that awaits us all. But
man's journey is not unto the grave. Dying is transmutation. Dying is
not folding of the wings; but pluming the pinions for new and larger
flight. Dying is not striking an unseen rock, but a speedy en