THE Lutheran Home Journal. APRIL, 1858. HOPE, DESTROYED AT DEATH, BY REV. E. GREENWALD. E are sitting in the house of mourn I. It is a case of hope destroyed. In such a case of bereavement as this, there is a dark, a very dark side. The distress which the stricken parents suffer, leads them to look only on the dark side, Wing. fit the centre of the room is a and to refuse to admit that there is, or can coffin that contains the corpse of a little child-lovely in death-its little hands folded-and the sweet smile yet impressed upon its face, with which it peacefully fell asleep in the arms of Jesus. Seated at its side are the bereaved young parents, from whose fond embraces death had snatched it, and they are overwhelmed in their deep grief. It was their only child—a babe of two summers-the joy of their hearts-the son of their hopes-and the light of their dwelling. The feelings that swell in their breasts as they sit beside the coffin that contains their lost treasure, and which will in a few hours be laid away in the dark, cold grave, are painful in the extreme. The fond dream which they had cherished concerning its early life is destroyed. In the anguish of their souls they look up to the hand that has dashed their darling expectations to the ground, and say, "Thou destroyest the hope of man." Yes, mourning ones! we have in the death of your dear babe an instance of hope destroyed-but if we look beyond that which appears, and view this event in the light of the Gospel, we will perceive in it also a case of hope restored. It may be profitable in this solemn hour to consider it in both these aspects. be, a brighter side-still all must acknowledge that there is a sadness in such events that is well adapted to spread a deep gloom over their hearts. The hope of its physical life is destroyed. What a beautiful object, a wonderful piece of mechanism, is a human being! How interesting and lovely, especially, is a little child! It is then a man or woman in miniature-but a most beautiful miniature. How fondly do its parents contemplate the exquisite jewel as it lies nestling in its mother's bosom, and wonder mingles with joy in their hearts, that such a treasure is theirs. They watch over its life with ceaseless vigilance, and start up alarmed, and clasp it anxiously to their bosoms, on the approach of danger. They contemplate with an interest that never tires, the expanding of its bodily form, and the gradual development of its strength. They look forward with pleasing hope to the time when the helpless infant in their arms shall have attained its manhood, and shall move in society, loved and honored by its associates. Many vague, yet pleasant dreams concerning its future life, are cherished in the deep heart of hearts of those that gave it birth. But how sadly are all these fond dreams troyed, when the cold hand of death is suddenly laid upon it. How distressing are their feelings when they look upon it, but it is pale in death-its bosom heaves not-its hands move not-its eyes no longer sparkle with life and pleasure. How dire is the calamity when the wonderful piece of mechanism has become a wreck the machinery stands still-the process of dissolution has commenced, and in a few days that which was once such a lovely babe, will have become a mass of corruption and dust. Oh, how dreadful is death! How hard to resign it, with all the fond hopes which its infant life had awakened, to the cold and dreary embraces of the grave. scattered, and these cherished hopes des- | brightly in the morning, but ere it had ascended a few degrees from the horizon, its rays were all obscured by the dark clouds that involved the world in the gloom of night. The tender plant had sent forth its beautiful foliage and its bud of promise, but a worm appeared suddenly at the root, and the bud of hope sickened, and withered, and died. Its career of life that had begun so hopefully, and that was so interesting to its parents, is unexpectedly cut short. The past seems to you but a pleasant dream, and the earthly future that you had expected for it will never come. A sad void is made in your hearts-the object around which your dearest affections were entwined, has been taken away-and the present and the future are alike cheerless and without hope to you. Indeed, you cannot yet realize the extent of your calamity, but for days, and weeks, and months, the loss you have sustained will seem to increase, and leave a more painful impression upon your hearts. The hopes that had been indulged concerning its mental improvement are destroyed. Parents usually promise themselves a large amount of pleasure from contributing to the development of the mental faculties of the immortal being that has been confided to their care. At first its mind seems almost a blank, and gives little promise of the mental improvement of which it is capable. With a degree of interest of which none can form an adequate conception but those who are parents themselves, does the parent's observant eye detect the first dawn of reason in its mind, and watc the gradual unfolding of its mental powers. Day after day the process is observed with increasing interest-traits of character are exhibited that were not observed before-and every new discovery of advancing intellectuality sends a thrill of pleasure to the bosom, and adds an additional cord to bind it to its parents' affections. Plans of future training are formed a bright career of honor is marked out, and expectations of success in life are indulged, perhaps very wild and extravagant, but still very natural to a parent's breast. But what a dreadful disappointment to this pleasant dream is occasioned by the premature death of the subject of all these fond anticipations. The sun had arisen so The hope of satisfaction and comfort which its parents had promised themselves, from the future kind offices of their child, are destroyed. We all, as parents, promise ourselves some reward from the future dutiful conduct of our children, for the toils, and tears, and anxieties which we have endured on their account. Young and innocent as a little babe is, it not only rests its weight on its mother's knee, but it also lies as a burthen on her heart. No future requital which it can make her will be an adequate return for the bodily sufferings -the midnight watchings-the mental anxieties and the nursing care endured and exercised on its account. The anxious parent cheerfully endures all this privation, and performs the arduous task, in the hope of realizing at a future time, some of the fruits of present toil. The filial affection shown by a child to its parent-its gratitude for parental care-its attention in sickness-its support in old age-and the satisfaction derived from its general HOPE, DESTROYED AT DEATH, RESTORED IN HEAVEN. good conduct, and the position of respectability and usefulness it has attained in the world, afford substantial gratification to parents' hearts, and a partial remuneration for parental cares and toils. 99 as the case is, it is yet not unmingled with consolation. Your disappointed hopes will all be revived again. Your child still lives. Would it startle you if a friend, in whose word you have the fullest confidence, would pass to where you are sitting, and whisper into your ear, that what is enclosed in that coffin is only a mass of the cast-off garments of your babe—that the child itself is not there-but that it is now in an adjoining room, as innocent, and smiling, and happy as it ever was, and infinitely more so? Would you not at once dismiss your grief, and dry your tears, and feel relieved of the burthen that now presses so heavily upon your hearts? And is not such the fact, though somewhat different from the sense in which the language employed to describe it would be ordinarily understood? The child “is not dead, but sleepeth." The body which is now a corpse, and which we will lay in the grave, is not that which constituted the true being of your child. That was the tenement-the frail, clayey tenement Whatever hopes of this kind you had wound around the life of your child, are all destroyed by the sad event which has deprived you of it. You have had the care of its infancy, and your consolation is in the remembrance of the past, and in the hopes of an earthly future. Its short career is over. The sand of its little life was soon run. Its lips that smiled so sweetly upon you, will smile at the recognition of your countenance no more. You will hear no more the laugh that betokened the joy of its soul, nor the voice that had begun to articulate its parents' names. The warm thrill of joy that gleamed like an electric current through your souls as you pressed it with a gush of affection to your bosom, is still pleasant to think upon, but cannot be realized again. The recollection of the happy moments you have spent in caressing the dear object of your heart's idolatry, is—which it had inhabited for a season, the all the reward for the past-the hope of future satisfaction with it on earth is destroyed by its death. This is the dark side of this case, and it is indeed gloomy and sad. It awakens our deep sympathies in your behalf, and we sincerely condole with you. But whilst we have admitted and dwelt upon the dark side of the picture, let us now turn to a brighter side. Dark as the picture is, there is yet a bright side. The darkness is not so profound, but the rays of some bright, twinkling stars can penetrate it. The night is not so dark and gloomy but the rosy morning will break and chase it all away. In our contemplation of the case, we have considered it as furnishing an instance of hope destroyed-let us now look at it again, and we will discover that it also presents a case of II.-Hope restored. You are not left utterly hopeless. Your sorrow is not the agony of despair. Sad living tenant itself is not there. There is the casket-and it was indeed a beautiful casket-but still only the casket-the precious jewel which it contained is no longer in it, but is safe and uninjured, and beyond the reach of all peril. Death did not, and could not annihilate its being. It only separated the mysterious cords that bound its real life to a mass of heavy clay, so that it is now released and free. Death could not really touch your child. It could affect the gross matter with which its spiritual and nobler nature was clogged, but that nobler nature itself it could not affect. It is really therefore not dead. It still lives. Do not mourn it as dead. Think of it as living, for such indeed it is. Such a view of the caseand it is the true view to be taken of itwill restore hope to your hearts, although the first view seemed to destroy all hope. Your child is happier now than it was before. |