Why do you look for him among the dead?

He knew whoso loveth is born of God.

He knew, also, that there was no other way to manifest that love than by loving service to his brethren.

He served the lowliest and poorest―those who had never heard his name or knew what he did for them, for he gave to all good and noble causes the help and strength that made them powers for good―whose fruitage only the ages can tell.

He served, also, the crying spiritual needs of those, who, hungering and thirsting after righteousness, came to him, as a visible source of strength.

He served those, also, who, seeing his face, as he talked with the Almighty, as friend talketh with friend, were led to walk beside him up to the mountain top, and there saw, as he did, the dear loving face of the Christ Emmanuel―God with us.

As he learned and taught, watered and was watered, he came to the end of one phase of his being―when he could no longer be held of the flesh.

What was a help in his earlier service outgrown became a hindrance, and the call―

Come up higher was but a consequence of the fitness worn through brotherly service to rise into another sphere, and among other surroundings.

He is working still.

His lips are burning yet with the adoration of his great, loving capacity, filled to overflowing, and the brightness of his countenance is that of those who abide with the Lord in the Mount of Transfiguration.

He is full of desire to help and to serve, and his whole nature flows serenely and powerfully on, like a mighty river lit by the beams of the Sun of Righteousness whose radiance is reflected in a thousand sparkling and gleaming lights.

So let him abide in your thoughts, as one who loved his fellow men, and whom the Lord has blessed.

It is well with him―

It will be well with those who love him if they walk in his footsteps, trust as he trusted, serve as he served, love as he loved.

As death was to him the pathway to eternal life, look for him among the immortals, for he is not in the tomb, but risen.

So shall they rise who follow and imitate him, as he followed and imitated his Lord and Master, and in due time, the homecomers will find themselves beside him again―serving, loving, blessed forever.

―An [Unknown] Spirit

Journey to the Land of the Great King

The Story of the Great King

—Spirit Hans Christian Andersen 

NOW, I will tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, there was a poor young man who lived in a distant city. His father was poor, and his mother was poor, but they were industrious, and though they lived in a little room in a large city, they loved Nature, and of the crumbs from their frugal repast, the son scraped and fed the little birds that came to their window and lived on their housetop.

Any green plant or shrub he could get, he would foster, and it would grow beneath his loving care, for his heart was in sympathy with Nature.

Well, this young man, sitting alone at his work, would see the most beautiful visions, which would fill his soul with gladness, so he could not but speak of what he saw. The neighbours, learning this, would gather around him to hear him talk and describe the lovely, though invisible, scenes.

In the course of time, boys and girls from far and near would come to hear his talk, and the rich ones brought him presents, so that he need no longer work at his lowly trade, but could spend all his time describing his wonderful visions.

As wealth came to him, he grew stronger, and his voice became more powerful—after a time, he left his humble home and set out to visit strange cities.

Wherever he went, he told his wondrous tales, and the people flocked about him, and took him to their homes, and loaded him with presents, and he grew daily more and more prosperous. But all this time, he had not forgotten his sweet teacher—Nature, nor the great Father who had given him eyes to see the glorious sun and the moon and trees and flowers and the fruitful earth and a heart to feel, love and sympathise with the troubled, the heartbroken and the unfortunate!

He had many friends. Kings and queens invited him to sit at their table, and he ate and drank with nobles. But of all the people around him, he loved best little children because they were simple and truthful, and they returned his love—they followed him wherever he went, so that he was never alone.

But as days and years passed, while he sang and told his strange stories, he began to grow old, and his voice failed him.

Then word came from the King of a distant land that he must forsake all of his friends, lay aside his wealth and honours, and go and dwell with him.

Now, this King was represented to him as a dreadful being who had two places to which he consigned all those unwary travellers who ventured to visit him. One place was a dreadful lake of the flaming liquid pitch into which He delighted to thrust those who displeased him, and the other was a place where they all sat and sang triumphal hymns over those poor tortured beings.

In such dread was this King held by the people of the surrounding countries that they put on long robes of black, and covered their faces with heavy veils, and hung from their hats long streamers of black crape to denote the sorrow and woe they experienced when the summons came from this inexorable King for their friends to visit his dreaded and unknown Kingdom.

This poor man, to whom the earth was so lovely, and whose friends were so kind, and who had beguiled so many with his stories, could not beguile this mighty King. He had to comply with his orders and go empty-handed into the strange country. He had to lay aside the fine suits of clothes he had acquired. 

He looked with longing eyes at the books of his library, wishing he could pack them in his trunk and take them with him, but the messengers denied his request, for no one is permitted to take anything with him to that great King's kingdom!

All that he had accumulated in his years of toil—his birds and flowers, his money in the bank, his possessions, which he had gained by care and industry, he was forced to leave.

So he took a sad farewell from his friends, and looked his last on the cheerful sun, and started forth on his lonesome voyage.

It was dark at first, the air was thick with gloomy mist, and the wind blew, but he said to himself—I will keep up my courage, for it cannot be, but that the All-Wise One who superintends the heavens and the earth, and who protects the little flowerets so that they grow up sheltered amid the storms of winter by the side of the rocks—it cannot be, but that He will protect me. Thus encouraging himself, he pursued his solitary way, which he thought would be exceedingly long. 

While thinking thus, he suddenly saw before him, not far distant, a city glowing in a light like that of the setting sun. 

As he gazed at it, he realised it to be the city of the fierce King—when suddenly, there emerged from the avenue of trees that fringed its borders, a gay party of little children who were dressed in all the charming colours of the blossoms that grow in the fields, and carried with them, in their hands, and crowning their heads, the most wonderful flowers that were ever seen!

Smilingly, they approached him, and some of the tallest among them stepped from among the others, and running to him, lifted up their rosy lips to him, and kissed the wayworn traveller, saying to him—

Thou art Hans Christian Andersen. We know thee! Come see what a beautiful garden we have made for thee.

And as they ceased speaking, the others circled around him, and having grasped his hands and kissed his lips, led him away to the entrance of the shining city.

Lo! there stood a garden, surrounded by hedges of what appeared to be roses, which were in full bloom, and filled the air with their fragrance, and as he stopped to admire the flowers, the children cried—

Come; come, dear friend, and see what else we have for thee, and they led him within to a lovely cream-coloured house with a verandah on all sides, and vines clustering and creeping up to the very windows! 

Just such a house as he had seen in his visions long days ago!

When he told them this, they clapped their hands with expressions of pleasure, and then led him within to an apartment where were arranged tastefully on shelves familiar books that almost seemed to be the identical books he had left behind him so sorrowfully when he set out to visit the wonderful King.

From this, the room of books, they led him to a friendly little salon on the opposite side, called the Room of Friendship, where on a round table were placed the most beautiful dishes imaginable—cups and saucers and plates so delicately tinted and painted, they looked like the petals of some flowers.

Still, they proceeded on to a much larger room. This was called the Room of Song. There, he beheld his favourite instruments of music—his flute, violin, and piano, and as he was looking with wonderment at them, he heard a great sound without—hundreds of voices rising in a song of welcome!

,

So exalted he became with joy and gratitude that tears rained down from his eyes and blinded him, and the children gathered around him brought him a chair covered with soft cushions, and seated him, so that he might listen and enjoy the music. The song rose higher and higher, and as he listened, he heard that it celebrated his arrival. 

Oh—what music was there! 

All the sweet sounds he had heard from his boyhood to manhood were like gross mutterings compared with this ravishing melody.

When the song was complete, the singers entered, and lo! among them were friends of his boyhood and manhood, dear people who had started long before him to obey the mandate of the stern King to visit his unknown Kingdom.

Oh—who can tell what greetings of joy arose when he met his long-lost friends and relatives. 

When their emotions could be controlled, they sat down around him and told him about the Great King—how that he was a Good King—how he cared for everyone who visited his land, and that the dangerous lake was but a fable, like the fables of old—such as sailors,  in earlier days, were wont to enliven their countrymen with.

 

They told him that the only lakes to be seen were the crystal streams whose refreshing waters revivified the dwellers of that fairylike land. They told him also that the Great King was invisible to them, but that they felt him in the balmy air, and that they recognised His presence in the song, and they felt His goodness by his ministering spirits—by the benevolence and goodness displayed around them in His kingdom, whereby a home was provided for the meanest voyager from earth to his country, for the humblest found a home and friends awaiting him.

And when they had finished their conversation, the beautiful children passed cups around to the vast company, filled with the most delicious beverage that lips ever tasted, and plates of fruit such as Eden never grew in her favoured soil—for the richness and flavour and colour of the fruit of this marvellous Kingdom surpassed everything dreamed of.

And this ends the story of Spirit Hans Christian Andersen's journey to the Land of the Great King.

he Next World—Fifty-six Communications from Eminent Historians, Authors, Legislators, etc. now in Spirit-life

Illustrations—The Work of God's Children—Free public domain Catholic pictures and free pictures of God's Creation