There remaineth therefore a day of rest for the people of God.  Hebrews 4:9

 

Hannibal's soldiers had left their African homes, crossed quickly the shore-lands of Europe that skirt the mountain bases, and were now climbing the ascents of the giant Alps.  Long had they braved a winter's cold such as their southern hearts had never known, but the hour came when the long black line wavered and faltered and the march was off.  But only for an instant. Over the wind-swept crest rang the sharp cry of their undaunted leader, awakening the long silent echoes of the ice-bound peaks;  "Post Alpes, Italia!"  "After the Alps, Italy."  Spurred back sharply into life, that wild band steadied their weakening strength, bent their heads low against the blast, dug their heels into the encrusted snow, and Italy's fair plains were soon ringing under their hardened tread.

 

Few of us shall see the Alps this side of the grave, yet the hour will come when the narrow path of life will narrow more and the steep ascent from this valley of tear will grow sharper still and we shall be weary of the climbing .  Joys there are in life, sweet joys not rimmed with sadness, but ever and again the "shade of God's hand outstretched caressingly" rests upon us and we feel the weight of mortal cares and years.  In that hour we shall need someone to cheer our sinking hearts, someone to remind us that we are "wearing away to the land o' the leal."  That voice, faint and thin to the ears of sense but clear and buoyant where Faith has its home, will come from out the tabernacle:

 

"Child of my deathless love, remember that there remaineth a day of rest for the people of God.  After a few swift years, after this shortening span of life, I shall come to take you home, home with God, old with the agelessness of eternity, home with Me, your elder Brother whose love you now but dimly guess, home with our gentle, loving Mother.  After the Alps, comes Italy, and after life, Heaven, after exile, Father's home."

Jesus, exile's Friend, here in this shadowed valley of tears, I look to you to cheer my onward, upward path.  Homeward, to my Father's home, I am wending my shortening way.  But Jesus, home seems so far away at times, yes, and a thing so dreadfully unreal.  But, good Master, I trust you for my safe return.  You see my arms outstretched with love of the farther shore which fades forever and forever from my view.  So, gentle Leader, when the "night is dark and I am far from home - lead Thou me on!"

 

"Lord, as from Thy Body bleeding,

Wave by wave is life receding

From these limbs of mine:

As it drifts away from me

To the everlasting sea,

Blend it, Lord, with Thine."