" There is no material preparation to be made for this
journey of mine into a far country--a simple fact which adds to the
'unknowableness' of the other side. Do I travel alone, or am I one
of a great company, swift yet unhurried in their passage? The
voices of Penelope's suitors shrilled on the ears of Ulysses, as
they journeyed to the nether-world, like nocturnal birds and bats
in the inarticulateness of their speech. They had abused the gift,
and fled self-condemned. Maybe silence commends itself as most
suitable for the wayfarers towards the sunrise--silence because
they seek the Word--but for those hastening towards the confusion
they have wrought there falls already the sharp oncoming of the
curse.
While we are still here the language of worship seems far, and yet
lies very nigh; for what better note can our frail tongues lisp
than the voice of wind and sea, river and stream, those grateful
servants giving all and asking nothing, the soft whisper of snow
and rain eager to replenish, or the thunder proclaiming a majesty
too great for utterance? Here, too, stands the angel with the
censer gathering up the fragrance of teeming earth and forest-tree,
of flower and fruit, and sweetly pungent herb distilled by sun and
rain for joyful use. Here, too, come acolytes lighting the dark
with tapers--sun, moon, and stars--gifts of the Lord that His
sanctuary may stand ever served.
It lies here ready to our hand, this life of adoration which we
needs must live hand in hand with earth, for has she not borne the
curse with us? But beyond the white gate and the trail of woodbine
falls the silence greater than speech, darkness greater than light,
a pause of "a little while"; and then the touch of that healing
garment as we pass to the King in His beauty, in a land from which
there is no return.
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