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to covet may be gained: but in this material and definite outline does the hope of Heaven end? Nay—it does not here begin. Not in the hope of a blessed abode, in music, and light, and dreams,—not in the hope of eternal rest, by houris fanned,—but in the hope of the glory of God—in the hope of eternal advancement,—yea, even in the knowledge that there is no home, nor stay, nor station on the wild, bright way we know not whither, we shall spurn these heavens of the dull imagination. From the colonnades and temples in gardens elysian, where blooms of amaranth shade the lamb and the lion, and fancy hears the foot-falls of the loftiest of time, past thrones, principalities, and constellations,—past crowns whose jewels win the lifted eyes of Gabriel and Michael, up through laws and harmonies which it hath not entered into the heart of man nor angel to conceive—which are to music as is music to the grating of a dungeon hinge, shall rise the flying soul,—and the blessed air shall echo to her shouting, far o'er the lost ideals of the world," thanksgiving ! thanksgiving to the Lord God Almighty, who calls and calls us through the universe of glory!"

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