November 18

"And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not."—Luke 7:13.

IT is the Master of life and death who speaks in the great imperative, Weep not. Not that He would have me manifest my religion in the dryness of my eyes. He is no Stoic philosopher. The Star of Bethlehem is not the star of the unconquered will.

But His gospel has changed the character of death to the believing and holy dead themselves. It has made it stingless, a going home to God, a discharge from the weary fight, a coronation. They know whither it leads them; not to the phantom-like existence of Sheol, but to the Father's house of many mansions. To die is gain pure and vast.

And His gospel has brought many consolations to us who remain. It assures me that the departure of those I love is meant to loosen my hold on the earth, to endear Christ and to enrich heaven, to stir me to swifter labour in the shortening days, to mellow my heart into tenderness for others who suffer. The rod of Jesus, like the rod of Jonathan, is dipped in honey — like the rod of Aaron, is beautified with blossom and fruit. With me too it is well.

And His gospel predicts the future, in which there will be no more separation. He will give me back "my unforgotten dearest dead," if they and I alike belong to Him. The King of Terrors will hold dominion over mine and me no more. In the lovely day-dawn of eternity, the sea crossed, the danger past, I shall see my adversary slain on the shore.

Certainly Christ has right to speak the imperial word Weep not.