hurch universal--are not the ascetics, not the contemplators,
not the men who walked apart in cloisters; but those who came down from
the Mount of Communion and Glory, to take a part in the world; who have
carried its burdens in their souls, and its scars upon their breasts;
who have wrought for its deepest interests, and died for its highest
good; whose garments have swept its common ways, and whose voices have
thrilled in its low places of suffering and of need;--men who have
leaned lovingly against the world, until the motion of their great
hearts jars in its pulses forever; men who have gone up from dust, and
blood, and crackling fire; men with faces of serene endurance and lofty
denial, yet of broad, genial, human sympathies;--these are the men who
wear starry crowns, and walk in white robes, yonder.

We need our visions for inspiration, but we must work in comparative
shadow; otherwise, the very highest revelations would become monotonous,
and we should long for still higher. And yet, are there not some whose
desire is for constant revelation? Who would see supernatural sights,
and hear supernatural sounds, and know all the realities towards which
they are drifting, as well as those in which they must work? They would
make this world a mount of perpetual vision; overlooking the fact that
it has its own purposes, to be wrought out by its own light, and within
its own limits. For my part, I must confess that I do not share in
this desire to know all about the next world, and to see beforehand
everything that is going to be. I have no solicitude about the mere
scenery and modes of the future state. But this desire to be in the
midst of perpetual revelations argues that there is not enough to fill
our minds and excite our wonder here; when all things around us are
pregnant with suggestion, and invite us, and offer unfathomed depths for
our curious seeking. There is so much here, too, for our love and our
discipline; so much for us to do, that we hardly need more revelations
just now;--they might overwhelm and disturb us in the pursuit of
these appointed ends. Moreover, the gratification of this desire would
foreclose that glorious anticipation, that trembling expectancy, which
is so fraught with inspiration and delight,--the joy of the unknown, the
bliss of the thought that there is a great deal yet to be revealed.

We do need some revelation; just such as has been given;--a glimpse of
the immortal splendors; an artic