What a cluster of sweet hopes!
(Octavius Winslow, "Evening Thoughts")
"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain." Revelation 21:4
What a cluster of sweet hopes is here! What a collection of bright beams, throwing, in focal power, their splendor over that cloudless day! Heaven will be a state of perfect freedom from all sorrow!
Child of sorrow! Sick ones dear to Christ! Bereaved mourners! Hear these precious words, and let music break from your lips! God will dry your tears! As the mother comforts her sorrowing one, so God will comfort His. Yes, child of grief, there will be no more weeping then; for, oh, ecstatic thought! "God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."
And "there shall be no more death." No more rending asunder of affection's close and tender ties; no more separations from the hearts we love; the mourners no more go about the streets; for death is now swallowed up in victory!
"Neither sorrow, nor crying." Grief cannot find existence or place in an atmosphere of such bliss. No frustrated plans, no bitter disappointments, no withered hopes, no corroding cares, there mingle with the deep sea of bliss, now pouring its tide of joyousness over the soul!
"Neither shall there be any more pain." Children of suffering, hear this! There will be no more pain racking the frame, torturing the limbs, and sending its influence through the system, until every nerve and fibre quivers with an indescribable agony. "The former things are passed away."
It will be a day of perfect freedom from all sins. Ah! this methinks will be the brightest and sweetest of all the joys of heaven. The Canaanite will no more dwell in the land. Inbred corruption will be done away; the conflict within us will have ceased; no evil heart will betray into inconsistencies and sorrows; not a cloud of guilt will tarnish the unsullied purity of the soul. You holy ones of God! weeping, mourning over indwelling and outbreaking sin, the last sigh you heave will be a glad adieu to pollution; to be tormented with it no more, to be free from it forever!
"I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with your likeness." This is heaven indeed!