What happens to babies in heaven?

The Infants' Heaven

It was encircled with hills that seemed as if they touched the bluest and most cloudless of skies. 

Far off and shining, like snow upon their summits, only it was clear light. 

All down the sides of these came streams of pure water, leaping from point to point in misty cascades—or flowing in sparkling ripples like brooks on earth.

Everywhere flowing water, and the light, which was indescribably soft, yet brilliant, striking on it made the air full of rainbows.

They were in fragments everywhere, the lovely sevenfold chords of light. 

Looking down into the valley was like a sea of lovely hues like moonlight for tenderness, and radiant with colours too lovely for description. 

Through the midst of the place ran a broad stream of water—silver bright over a bed of precious stones that flashed like living things.

Everywhere noble clumps of trees—some covered with tiny white bells that swaying lightly rung in the softest tones, some with glittering leaves and pendant branches like tents of green light.

Flowers beside the streams—among the green grass—climbing, nesting in wreaths—in garlands—in sheets and beds of bloom—of such colours and fragrance as no earthly blossoms ever possessed.

Finest fruits growing close to the ground—sweet and cool for the baby lips.

Birds in flocks of gorgeous plumage, shooting in graceful curves, like a flash of scarlet—or blue, white—or rose, nestling in the cool places by the streams—or darting and singing—a very ecstasy of life.

Dotted about the valley were small white houses exquisite in the delicacy of form and material, lacelike verandahs carved of pure translucent stone and overrun with vines, loaded with flowers and shaded by trees and shrubbery.

Fountains threw their diamond spray over beds of blossoms—the birds darting through the falling drops. 

And children! such hosts—multitudes of them.

The precious little ones were all clad in the purest white, for that is the dress of innocence. 

Floating on the water, springing in, frolic in and out, knee deep in flowers, covered with wreaths, hands full and heads crowned, chasing the birds who cuddled in their arms one moment, and were flying and singing the next—the most indescribably lovely sight that one can ever see.

I stood and gazed until heart and eyes were full. 

So holy—so happy—so pure—so blessed. 

I could not bear it. 

I was so full of joy that I cried like a child, and Gerald said smiling—

Dearest Mother, yours are the first tears ever shed here.

But I have to express myself somehow, and must shed tears until I am able to bear such bliss. 

Why do I try to describe it? 

Only that I would give some faintest idea of the truth and beauty of this life of ours. 

A year of earth would not suffice to tell the tithe of the beauty and blessedness of these tiny immortals.