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a paradise. As well might the unfolding flower supplicate its solar god, the sun, to come down from the dizzy hight and burn its glory into the earth's cold bosom. The soul yearns toward the remote sphere just as the rose looks lovingly up into the great, beautiful eyes of the sun. But like the yearning rose, the human soul, while gathering experiences in the rudimental sphere, is blest by enkindling rays descending from remote orbs, and would not be benefited by immediate proximity to the source of every blessing.

To the perfectly healthy-minded there is, properly speaking, nothing of what is called "imagination." Every vague intuition is a foreshadowed positive fact; each internal conception is interwoven with truth; every dream will work out a fulfillment; and the reward of merit even goes further, transforming the commonest pleasures into spiritual happiness. But the discordant, the ignorant and diseased, on the other hand, are beset with penalties and punishments of every shade and magnitude. They will turn from the most comfortable circumstances into sufferings and misfortunes purely imaginative in origin. Portentous omens and silly prognostics infest diseased and discordant minds, while the inspirations of peaceful natures are filled with the golden verities of eternity.

Bright and beautiful are the countenances of the pure in heart. Surpassingly beautiful and bright are the eyes of the higher angels. The meditations of harmonious intelligences are celestial and heavenly.

But there is a beauty even in the external form of every created thing. There is an expression of tender love and saving wisdom in the eyes of guardian spirits. They bring beauty and light in their garments. How pure-surpassingly pure-are they, in all their deeds of mercy among the children

of men! With what graceful tenderness do they bend over the fallen in battle! They ride upon the bosom of the rivers of magnetic fire-from their lovely homes in the Summer Land, through the star-paved immensity, down to the couch of the sick and dying. Into the undulating brain of the sick one they breathe the breath of celestial love. They mitigate his pains by the aroma of their hearts, and they impart beautiful dreams of coming happiness to the departing.

How incessantly employed in deeds of friendship are all the noble and pure in the Summer Land! There are no latitudes, no longitudes, to the inhabitants of celestial spheres. They leave their valleys and plains for the mountains and rough places of earth. They depart from their beautiful gardens, and from the enjoyment of their luxuriant possessions, to mingle their feelings with those on earth who pray and work for the reign of Freedom. Goodness infinite! is proclaimed by the noblest tongues. The atmosphere of a deathless divinity fills all the space in which they dwell. They would spread such a gospel and exhale such aromas throughout all the habitations of men. The fallen woman, the lost child, the dying soldier, is covered by the temple of their love. The sky is full of bright eyes, and the earth is peopled with dark objects, and those eyes and those objects meet both day and night. Each object is instinct with claims upon the heavenly visitors, and each visitor is prompted to perform some kindly office for the sake of humanity.

Garments of whiteness are thrown around the fallen spirit, and a magnetic life steals into the heart's darkest chambers. Whether a human being ascends from the battle-field, or from the retirement of the bed-room couch, the heavenly visitors descend to enfold him in their exalting love. There are hun dreds of philanthropic celestial visitors to every village; and

there are ten helpers for every man whose spirit is dislodged by accident and misfortune. Think how many tender-hearted mothers dwell in the Summer Land! Of the benevolent and unselfish, who once lived on earth, there are millions in the adjoining world. A stream of constant philanthropy flows from them earthward; and, when possible, they lift the down-trod den, and save the falling from a lower depth.

In all this we behold the face of Mother Nature, and feel the omnipotent hand of our Father God. The manifestations of God are goodness, and truth, and wisdom; but the love, and purity, and philanthropy of the world. are from the heart of Nature. The attributes of humanity are more displayed in the Spirit Land. This world is rudimental-is filled with ignorance, selfishness, and strife.

All men in this world are naughty children; in that sphere all children are beautiful and good. The selfishness of earth is not fostered in the Summer Land. Philanthropy, not hatred, arches the door of every heart. Lovelier and lovelier beam the countenances of the guardian hosts; and sweeter than the waters of the rivers of Paradise, is the breath of every one who visits mankind on missions of mercy. What a Moral Police are the strong soldiers of the higher worlds! What beautiful " Sisters of Mercy are the lovely nurses of the heavenly hospitals! How free from earth's drugs are all their medicines for the sick and earth-worn traveler! Bright jewels of truth adorn the crown of every philanthropic spirit. And lovelier than the multiplied flowers of a thousand summers, are the faces of those who still the troubled waters of earth!

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Why do they not lift men's bodies and minds above the sphere of Disease and War? Why do they not extinguish the flame of passion? Why not put forth all their combined powers to heal physical and political sores? Will they not, having the

power and the wisdom, save mankind from destroying one another?

Beautiful questions! All answered by the fact that this would is the rudimental sphere of human existence. Millions of angels, all obedient to the laws of the infinite Good, cannot do impossible things. Thunder will reverberate in that world which is filled with lightning. Discase and War will disturb all men who foster the fires of passion. Passion is the electricity of the mind, and war is the thunderbolt. Ignorance is the diabolical monster of the human mind, and selfishness is the "roaring lion" that goes up and down the earth, seeking whom it may "devour." Progression is the angel of our deliverance, and our heavenly visitors can but hasten the day of its power. The race, like the globe, revolves. Its revolutions are less and less eccentric, as the wheels of time fly swiftly round, but the perfect circle is not yet reached. We must work out "our own salvation" from the causes of unhappiness. The angels will help us just in proportion as we help ourselves

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