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 6 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAV 
 
 / W X ' 
 
 \ 
 
 iiwiiiMH— liwiir • 
 
 Tianslated from the Ger 
 
 man. 
 
 -♦••♦- 
 
 Montreal : 
 J. Theo. Robinson, Publisher. 
 
 1 883 
 
6 
 
 Printed at the 
 
 COMMERCIAL PhlNTING HOUSE, 
 
 Montreal. 
 
Fi\OM flEAYEN, 
 
 L 
 
 B 7i 
 JS'^o Letters 
 
 C Pi < C^u^.) 
 
 Y'"^^ '^i^'" remember the day on which I died. 
 A The night, ray last on earth, had been lonct' 
 and sohtary. f spent it in the spare room of your 
 parsonage. I had suffered and struggled much, my 
 breath was laboured, my mind filled with apprehen- 
 sion. Then I called upon the Lord and prayed for 
 my release, but 1 w^as also prepared for a long illness 
 if It should be His will. . 
 
 With dawning morn my strength revived, and my 
 tormenting cough suddenly ceased. I came to you 
 all, as you may remember, and was enjoyincr alon- 
 with you the bright sunshine, which had reappeared 
 tor the first time after so many dark days, when all 
 at once I felt a seizure-my heart seemed contracted 
 with intolerable pain, and I sank into your arms 
 And while you gently laid me on the sofa, I knew 
 that I was about to die. To die, to die now ? 1 
 great pang passed through my soul, but did not last 
 long, for I could pray. 
 
 We had but a short time since sung together in 
 church what was now the cry of my heiwt :— 
 
 " For Jesus' sake I ask of Thee " 
 That blessed and calm my end may be." 
 And 1 was heard. I already felt that my limbs re- 
 " '•' ""' '"■> "i'^'^ no 'Oiigei- saw, 1 couid not 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 s 
 
 I 
 
 ,c 
 
 lA 
 
 X 
 
LET TEES FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 stretch out my liand to you and youi- wife. Only mj 
 ear could still hear. I heard you sadly exclaim : " Our 
 mother is dying I" I heard you praying with ami 
 for me. 
 
 But in proportion as my bodily eyes refused their 
 .service, the inner eye began to see. The room no 
 longer bound my vision. 1 saw a light Hoating 
 about me, and heavenly forms hovering downwards 
 from a?ure heights, and placing them-sehes around 
 my bed. It seemed to me as though a hand waa 
 laid under my head, and another hand wiped the 
 death-dews from my brow. I know not if they were 
 vours or the angel's, but the sound of vour word* 
 died away, and silence was around me. A happy 
 silence, a hovering upwards — then a dazzling glory 
 before my eyes, a rapturous feeling of freedom and 
 deliverance. 1 was dead, and the angels were carry- 
 ing me to heaven. I was conscious that I was taken 
 from my children and the beautiful earth ; it was 
 certainly a painful feeling to have gone from you 
 without a farewell, and that my other children had 
 not been able to stand around my dying bed, but 
 this pain was quite different from what I should have 
 felt in the covering of the body. I might compare 
 it to the feeling I experienced, when your father 
 took me as a bride from my father's house, when I 
 wept, but yet was so happy and left so willingly. I 
 would not either then or now, have gone one step 
 backwards even if I could. 
 
 And now I was in heaven. 
 
 I sav nothing to vou 
 
 -.r a - : i — 
 
 X UtilIll<ii/< 
 
 T 1 *.^ J-. 
 
LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 5 
 
 for it which you would understcaiul ; indeed, how 
 •should you be able to conceive what lies so far be- 
 yond all human conception, even if I could express 
 it ! Put together all the rapture which can at 
 supreme moments make man's heart happy, blend 
 to^rether all those emotions of happiness and bliss, 
 which sometimes and for a brief space pass like the 
 f,'olden clouds of evenin^,' across the sky of an earth- 
 ly life, and then you will have some notio'i of my 
 experience when I could say to myself : " In heaven 
 and saved ! " 
 
 I was not alone. But my dazzled eye could not as 
 yet see. I could distinguish nothing of what was 
 about me, and was so taken up witli myself— myself, 
 that no longer wore its corruptible body, and had put 
 ofi' all the weaknesses of its poor earthly life. Then 
 something nestled up to me, but much more closely 
 and affectionately than is possible on earth, even soul 
 to soul, and a voice cried, " Mother." 1 knew that 
 voice, ] should have known it outof millions, though 
 almost forty years had passed since . 'leard it last. 
 A little brother of yours, who went home before your 
 birth, was then lying in the height of fever in the 
 little room where your bed afterwards stood ; he 
 stretched his little hands put of the l)ed towards me, 
 and cried out in the agonies of death, with a chock- 
 ing voice: " Mother T And now I had my child, my 
 child that Iliad lost, back again. When I saw him 
 smile — (oh, that I could describe how the saved 
 smile !), and lieard his words, which were the words 
 <>i u child, ajid yet on the other hand so much more 
 
 s 
 
 g 
 
 f 
 
 !/1 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 lovely and intdli-ieni, T tlien for the first time under- 
 
 stood wJiat 
 
 earth 
 
 meant, when 1 spoke ( 
 happy child. Absorbed in beholding my child, I had 
 not yet noticed that another form, venerable and 
 grave, was standing near me, and l)en»ling on me looks 
 full of affection. Your father! When he lient down 
 to me with a loving greeting, me whom he had not 
 seen for so many years, he stroked my grey liair — ^ 
 for the soul wears the appearance of tlie body— 
 and asked after you all and your children, and 
 whether you also knew the way to heaven. And 
 before T could answer, my mother, who has been 
 already long in heaven, was there also, and the aged 
 woman was surprised to see her child as an elderly 
 w Oman. My brother, too, who died of grief for the 
 death of his child who was drowned, and the body 
 never recovered, approached ; the child was now 
 ho\-ering about him,, and all tears were wiped from 
 the fatlier's eyes. I easily recognised them, althougli 
 their appearance was so different from what I had 
 pi-eserved in my memory. They had remained there 
 with many traces of pain and sorrow, such as the 
 earthly countenance wears amidst the weakness and 
 infirmities of old age, or with the death-like pallor 
 which they had in the coffin. And now all, even the 
 aged, looking so blooming, so youthful, so transfigur- 
 ed. Many more whom I had loved in life drew 
 near. You know that love unites, and to love means 
 to be united. It exercises a power of attraction, 
 whose influence extends to the uttermost parts of 
 heaven, and Irriugs logetlier ail that are united by 
 
LETTERS FROM HE 4 VEN. 
 
 love. On earth the liraitat ions of .space keep asunder. 
 It is ditierent in lieaven, where .space no lousier 
 separates. 
 
 I?ut for this very reason I lacked one thinu. 
 Another mijjhty attraction of love had seized nij, 
 soul, and I felt that my lieart was not satisfied hy 
 meeting again with my dear ones. " Let me see 
 God, " cried I. Your father replied, " Not yet may 
 you behold tlie thrice Holy, hut come to Him whom 
 once even tlie poor earth was allowed to look upon, 
 and who is our Saviour and lirother ! And I went 
 with him, to speak in the language of earth, with a 
 beating heart. Very soon marvellous harmonies fell 
 upon my ear, to which all the blessed silently listen- 
 ed. And I beheld a great multitude, whicli no man 
 could number, of all nations, peoples, and tongues, 
 clothed in white garments, with palms in their hands. 
 I was drawn through their hosts to the throne, on 
 which was seated the Lamb of (led, the Son of man. 
 And when He turned on me a look of infinite mercy 
 and Divine love, and stretched out His hands over 
 me my heart burned within me, and T fell down and 
 worshipp.ij 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
II. 
 
 IK .salvation uirered uotUiug beyond Llie coinnmnion, 
 the close, uninterrupLed communion of those who 
 love and belong to one another, oven this would be 
 enough to make one forget all the pleasure and 
 beauty of earth. I often felt lonely on earth in spite 
 of your love, (lod indeed graciously spared nie a 
 long illness, and allowed me to remain among njy 
 children till my, last hour, but nevertheless, I was not 
 spared the solitariness which is the lot of all the aged. 
 More and more graves were ever being closed behind 
 me on my path of life, old friends departed, and the 
 old times also. It is dift'erent in heaven. Not as 
 thougii I had the same triends about me, as formerly 
 on earth. Here, where the soul neither can nor wtjuld 
 liide what it feels and thinks, where there are no 
 deceptions, not even deceptions of courtesy, many 
 keep at a distance to whom I thought myself near 
 on earth, while an inward mutual affection unites me 
 with many, from whom I was separated on earth by 
 insurmountable barriers. You remember the lady 
 of the manor of our village, the dear countess as we 
 called her, who was always very ill, even during 
 your childhood. She used to be driven sometimes 
 on fine summer days to our house to stay for a short 
 time in our garden, where she liked to talk to your 
 father about last Sunday's sermon, and when she 
 was pretty well, you children were allowed to so to 
 
 •S*- 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 the captle to play at lier feet. ^ler suifering con- 
 Mlition, ami also the certain araoi l of respect which 
 we oweii her on earth, were hiiuhances to more 
 intimate intercourse. V'ou will certainly also re- 
 member the old man, who came once a week for 
 8oup, ami who read the Jfevelation of St. John so 
 nmch, Lliat even your father was sometimes puzzled 
 by his stran<'e applications of Scripture. Both are 
 ■noble and much tried souls, infinitely above rae, but 
 who yet deign to bestow tlieir intimacy upon me. 
 
 Tliere are, indeed, many whom 1 always regarded as 
 friends, whom I do not see. Are they not in hc" 'en ^ 
 I do not know ; but 1 may certainly meet many of 
 them yet, for the host.s of the blessed are innumerable, 
 and in our Father's house are many mansions. But if 
 not, 1 shall have to conclude that we are not entirely 
 'United by the cords of love, and in that case it would 
 be of no use to meot them. ( )r, are they in hell \ 
 As yet I know nothing of hell. I am told that, quite 
 at the end of IVaadise, is a grf;at gulf fixed, which it 
 is not permitted even the saved to pass over. It is 
 saitl, that sometimes sighs and ;4roans ai ; heard re- 
 sounding from its other side, but I have no wish to 
 hear them. 
 
 You will, perhaps, ask me whether this attracting 
 power of love does not make me long also for com- 
 munion with you, my children still on earth. Cer- 
 tainly it does, but not below in your cold, dark world. 
 A little while, and you too, when God graciously 
 '.permits ic, will come to us. Hence I have not for- 
 gotten yoii, nor yet the earth, which indeed conceals 
 
 3 
 
 .C/> 
 
 Vl 
 
10 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 mj' body. Once too L looked over at it. Shortly 
 after my entrance into heaven, your father took me 
 by the hand and said : " Come, I will show you your- 
 grave." He pointed out the direction in which I was 
 to look. For what the soul earnestly desires to see,, 
 it sees ; distance is no impediment. I gazed at the 
 innumerable host of stars, a lovely sight even for the 
 blessed. Some were shining brightly, while others 
 pursued their course with fainter light. A feebly 
 shining star became visible ; it grew plainer, and as 
 it were larger, the longer my eyes were fixed upon it. 
 The land, which was framed by the bluish sea, and 
 lay in sunshine, appeared. 1 was almost shocked at 
 its scanty light, pale colours, and many shadows. A 
 town with liigh towers emerged, my glance traversed 
 a forest, through which passed the white thread of 
 the road, and next F saw your native village with the 
 oH church, by the wall of which I perceived a newly 
 filled up grave, my grave. I saw the numerous 
 flowers and palms with which it was covered, and 
 also my own body lying in the sleep of death. Do- 
 you know why I looked for a long time towards the- 
 the place ? Because I shall there one day again put 
 on in its glorified form that now sleeping body, for it 
 is sown in corruption, but will rise in incorruption. 
 Hence, notwithstanding its decay, the grave is sacred' 
 to me, and what you call corruption we call germin- 
 ation. The time is not yet come, but perhaps it is 
 near, though of that day and hour knows none but 
 
 ri_j i.\~^ x^„*.u 
 
 — 1.. 
 
 VTuu i/iic iatisci will). 
 
 
 . uu 
 
 
 Hi 
 
 heaven a general presentiment, that the consumma- 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 IF 
 
 Lion wUl soon take place. Those who have been 
 already long here have told me, that at times the 
 dawn of a far brighter day, than we already have, 
 appears on the horizon of heaven, a day which shall 
 shine upon the new heavens and tlie new earth. 
 Then may I, then must I, hasten to earth, where my 
 soul is to find its house, that is eternal in the heavens. 
 
 But now you will further ask me whether I do not 
 also desire to see you and yours, or still more to seek 
 your society ? I will confess that at the beginning 
 of my heavenly life 1 was seized with a certain long- 
 ing after you. . would willingly have gone with 
 the angels, who hasten to and fro as God's inessengers 
 between heaven and earth. When once I asked 
 your youngest child's angel about yf<u, he answered 
 me as follows : — 
 
 " Yesterday evening they were all sitting round 
 the lamp in the sitting room. A ray of light f':.!L 
 upon your picture, which \yas hanging on thf' wall 
 adorned with a wreath of immortelles. Thev were 
 talking about you. They carmot yet realize that you 
 are taken from them. They do not grudge your body 
 its rest, nor yourself the peace of eternity, but they 
 feel so lonely and forsaken. They had so umch they 
 wanted to say to you, and would so like to give you 
 pleasure. The children, especially, cannot under- 
 stand that you will always stay in heaven, and 
 console themselves with the thought, tliat you will 
 certainly come at Christmas, when it is dark, and 
 the Christmas-tree is lighted up. They hope that 
 you will then bring them beautiful, shining, heaven- 
 ly gifts." 
 
 % 
 
12 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 Then I began to feel a sort of home sickness to- 
 wards earth. But the longin^- soon vanished. I 
 perceived that it was a remnant of earthliness still 
 ■cleaving to the soul, and which it must put oft' in 
 heaven. For longing is painful, and where God 
 wipes away all tears from our eyes there is no more 
 pain. Besides, in heaven we only will what lead 
 God wills, and it is not His will that the blessed 
 should re-visit the earth. 
 
 While I was yet in the body, I often wondered 
 why no blessed one ever appeared from heaven to 
 give information about the things above, and to 
 testify that* the fellowship of love still continues. I 
 had in my youth a very dear friend, a serious, re- 
 ligious gir). We were walking together by moon- 
 light one fine evening, at the season when roses are 
 in bloom. We were talking together girl-fashion, 
 and thought how pleasant it would be to die now, and 
 to soar past the full mo^ w and the silver-edged clouds 
 to Paradise. I learnt in later life, while yet on earth, 
 that such supposed longing after heaven was in me 
 nothing better -than a morbid, immature freak of 
 emotion, and that I was then anything but ready to 
 die. However, we promised each other that which- 
 ever died first should appear to her friend. My 
 companion really died a liappy death soon after, and 
 I expected her to appear. Often, when rays ot 
 moonlight entered my little room, I fancied I could 
 see lier form, and in my dreams 1 thought I heard 
 her voice. Still she never came. 1 might have 
 known than it is written : " They have Moses and 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 ij 
 
 the prophets. If they hear them not, neither will 
 tliey be persuaded, though one rose from the dead." 
 And now I fully perceive, that what the Scripture tell 
 us of heaven is not only enough, but that it is all that 
 could be told in language, and to earthly understand- 
 ings. These communications of mine, too, are noth- 
 ing else than the carrying out into details of what is 
 already written in Scripture. 
 
 You will not then be surprised, that I am seized 
 by no desire to descend to earth, qr to behold what is 
 eaithly and transitory. But this does not make the 
 ties of love, by which I am united to you, the looser. 
 Only I already look upon you as those who are 
 destined for heaven, and the life and lot of your souls 
 is of more interest to me than earthly existence, 
 which is subject to such pei-petual change. A 
 little while, and you too will die ; and so to me, who 
 have passed beyond time, your life is compressed into 
 a short span. Only the end is of importance to me. 
 The changing events of the day, the alternations of 
 prosperity and affliction, the cares and hopes of life,, 
 are to me like the uniform undulations of the sea, 
 which one beholds without emotion. As you can 
 remain composed, when your children tell you of 
 their little cares, nay, can even smile at their tears, 
 which nevertheless mean a whole world of trouble to 
 them, so do I look at your earthly cares and also at 
 your hopes or prosperity in the light of the words^ 
 " A little while." 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 r 
 
III. 
 
 I WAS vividly reminded of oaith and its sorrows as 
 I was once standing at the ^ate of Paradise, and 
 Iteholding the host of departed souls, who were 
 ■coming from the world. Thousands, indeed, die 
 every earthly day, hence the train of souls, that 
 issue from the mists to separate at the gate of 
 Paradise, is a never ending one. Some advance in 
 groups, some come singly, the angels of God escort 
 many. Each soul wears the form in which its body 
 appeared at death. The body, indeed, and all those 
 earthly matters, which served either to cover or 
 adorn it, are no longer really present, still they live 
 on in the imagination of the soul, and the mental 
 vision and recognition of souls depends on the fact, 
 that what they imagine comes into sight, and is 
 beheld as real. Hence the soul appears clothed like 
 the body, and it depends upon itself what it will 
 have and wear. The clothing, indeed, conceals 
 nothing ; the life of the soul, which on earth was 
 hidden, shows itself distinctly in eternity, so that its 
 very heart may, so to speak, be read. All hypocrisy 
 anil pretence cease here ; they would naturally 
 appear as nothing but wretclied masks. It is, there- 
 fore, very easy to distinguish between believers and 
 unbelivers. 
 
 The Saviour when on earth, compared faith in the 
 paniule oi the ten virgins, tu a iighled lamp. Think 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 15 
 
 then, of faith as a liglit, wliich impart^ to the soul a 
 kind of lieavenly brilliancy, while plainly as their 
 nature and character may be discerned, a dark 
 shadow is spread over the souls of the unbelievinj;-. 
 Only those souls, which are themselves children of 
 light, are able to endure the heavenly light which 
 streams forth towards them at the gate of Paradise. 
 It hurts and. dazzles all others, and they cannot but 
 turn from it and tlee. Thus a preliminary separa- 
 tion of souls is self-affected. Xo cherub is needed 
 at the gate of Paradise, those who are not destined 
 to enter it turn towards tiie darkness of their own 
 accord. Diseased plants and such as have no root 
 suffer from the li;^lit of that same sun, to which the 
 healthy gladly turn. 
 
 Vou know from your Bible that the soul may, 
 even in the hour of death, lay hold on the grace of 
 forgiveness through the blood of Christ ; in such a 
 case He Himself kindles in it the spark of faith 
 whicli lights the soul to Paradise. 
 
 This procession of death presents a strange spec- 
 tacle, one which would be fearful and dreadful to 
 the dwellers on earth ; while to us, who know our 
 wills to be one with the will of (lod, it is not even 
 disquieting. Some float on in their nightdresses, 
 their faces drawn and pinched by lengthened suffer- 
 ing on a sick bed, and their souls bearing tlie traces 
 of prolonged conflict. (Others come snatched sud- 
 denly out 01 life, their thoughts still set upon the 
 work or the pleasures of their earthly lot. Many 
 appear with tiie evideuL impress of ilie agonies of 
 
 8 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 fJ 
 
i6 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 death upon their countenances ; some have composed,, 
 nay indifferent features ; some the peaceful look of 
 sleep. Yonder comes a man of mature years, with a 
 face which betrays lon^- intellectual labours. I read 
 in his soul that he, after long struguling betweeiv 
 faith and unbelief, violently destroyed the impress- 
 ions of a pious education and suppressed the strings 
 of conscience. He said to himself thousands of 
 times : " There is no ( r kI and no eternity, there 
 cannot be !" And in this belief he died. Xow he- 
 covers his eyes with his hands to shield them from 
 the flood of light which he cannot endure. Despair 
 takes possession of his soul, and he sighs : " It can- 
 not be." And yet it is, poor soul ; only there are no 
 tears, nor prayers here — the}' are over I 
 
 Another comes, who died forsaken and alone, but 
 through his own fault. His hand convulsively 
 grasps a few keys, the keys of his money boxes. 
 There is little to read in his heart, it is a pauper soul. 
 There is not even a trace to be found in it of earthly 
 love, which leaves behind it, even in the souls of the 
 lost, a reflection of light, though faint and fading 
 away. Money, wealth, and an unquenchable thirst 
 tor more, is what fills this soul — anil these are over ! 
 
 A young woman appears with bloody hands and 
 dripping hair, as though she had come out of the 
 water. She murdered her child and drowned herself. 
 She did it in full consciousness, she had nothing more 
 to hope for in heaven or on earth; it is night in her 
 heart, she does not even look towards the liglit of 
 Paradise, she knows that she is lost — that all is 
 
 over 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN-. 
 
 '7 
 
 A noble looking youthful form, with a deep and 
 bleeding wound, hovers this way, he died in a duel. 
 For a long time he sought for his adversary, who had 
 trodden his honour under foot, for a long time he 
 thought of noihing but his honour and its restitution. 
 His opponent killed him, and now he is hoveriuf' 
 forth from the mist, his head erect, as though he ex- 
 pected commendation for his chivalrous deed, or must 
 excite the admiration of the inhabitants of heaven. 
 iJut none take notice of the poor fool ; he soon per- 
 ceives that the tinsel of earthly honour does not glit- 
 ter in the light of heaven, he bows his head, he turns 
 away — it is all over ! 
 
 There is a beautiful girl in a ball dress, torn and 
 . dirty, a disorded wreath of flowers hangs down over her 
 face, and her plaited hair is unbound. She was struck 
 with heart disease in the midst of violent dancin" 
 Her heart looks even more wretched than her exter- 
 nal appearance ; she shudders when she sees the 
 light of Paradise, it is no longer the light of the ball- 
 room that shines around — that is all over ! 
 
 A noble female form comes in sight. She is of 
 aristocratic rank, and an acquaintance of mine. 
 She was well reported of on earth, a friend to the 
 poor, famed for benevolence and praised for her 
 piety. Is she not saved ? How much the inhabit- 
 ants of the earth are deceived by appeautnces \ 
 Certainly much was said at her grave of her happy 
 end, and of the good works that followed her, and 
 yet they were all hypocrisy and mere outward show^ 
 her heart is dark and empty — all is over! 
 
 2 
 
 B 
 
 I 
 
 l\ 
 
iS 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 But now look this way with me and see how 
 the saved approacli. " When the Im^ turned ngaiii 
 the captivity of /ion, then were we like to tlieni 
 that dream." And they are at first like them that 
 dream ; that giVe themselves up to some pleasant 
 <lreara-iniage, that behold it without stirring or 
 wishing ; but when they become conscious that it 
 is indeed no dream, but full and fair reality, then 
 the rest of the verse is fulfilled, and their mouth is 
 tilled with laughter, and their tongue with praise. 
 8ome stand shyly at a distance, as though they 
 would contemplate from afar a glory which was 
 not appointed for themselves ; others lift up their 
 hands imploringly to the blessed, as if to entreat 
 their assitance to lead them into Paradise, while 
 with other elect souls the triumph song of their 
 happy death bed continues without intermission, 
 «ven into heaven. It is true that even these souls 
 are not perfect, they, too, come from the world of sin 
 and their bodies were born of the flesh. Sin and 
 weakness may be read in their hearts also ; but all is 
 covered by the blood of the Lamb, the handwritin" 
 that testified against them is still there, but it is done 
 away with. The light of faith is often still very 
 weak in their hearts, but it is there and where 
 there is but a spark there may soon be a tiame. 
 Hence there are distinctions and degi-ees amoufr the 
 saved : the murderer, who was converted in the last 
 hour of his life is indeed with his Lord in Paradise, 
 but he stands at the entrance, and is not on a level 
 
 it i« 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEJST, 
 
 19 
 
 lif(3 with his blood. Ho has still to grow and 
 iulvance. The beginning of the work must take 
 place on earth, but there is room for its continuance 
 and perfection in heaven. Tiius you i)erceive that 
 tliere is a work to do in heaven also, not a work done 
 in tlie sweat of the brow, in son-ow and trouble and 
 in couHlant conflict witli sin, but a holy and happy 
 work. It often reminds me of the play of child- 
 hood, whicii is indeed the unconstrained, spontaneous 
 activity of the mind freely working out that to which 
 it is disposed and appointed. Earthly work on the 
 contrary, however much liking men may entertain 
 for it, always bears the stamp of constraint and com- 
 pulsion. For it is not given to any one to do only 
 what he likes, and to leave undone what is not 
 agreeable to him, while the work on his own soul 
 cannot go on without self-conquest and self-control. 
 The actions of the blessed are again as free as those 
 •of little children, the only difference being that they 
 subserve a great, a Divine object ; for we are to be 
 perfect, as our Father is perfect. We are advancing 
 towards that great day, when the Lord will cast the 
 ungodly into eternal darkness, and say to the 
 dghteous, " Come ye blessed of my Father." 
 
 The day of judgment is before us also. Do you 
 ask whether we fear it ? There is no fear in love 
 and how should we, who are under the good 
 .Shepherd's care, fear ? Or, whether we have absolute 
 assurance of standing in that day ? That would 
 mean that we were already judged. As to whether 
 it IS possioie for the light oi iailh to decrease instead 
 
20 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 of increase in heaven, or even to be extinj^'uished, or 
 wliether perchance acme souls may come over to us 
 from the other side of the abyss, souls in whom a 
 merciful God may kindle the light of faith even in 
 hell, because they plunged ignorantly and uninten- 
 tionally into sin and sorrow — of all this I know 
 nothing. If much is as yet hidden from even the 
 aligels of God, every day brings fresh knowledge. 
 This alone we know from the beginning of the 
 heavenly life, that if His will is done, whatever is 
 done, is well. 
 
 li-r 
 
d, or 
 
 us 
 3m a 
 III in 
 
 1 ten- 
 no w 
 
 the 
 jdge. 
 
 the 
 31 is 
 
 IV. 
 
 MY son, there lemaineth a rest for tlie people of 
 (rod, a Sabbath rest, glorious, holy, uncettsing. 
 It is your mother who is permitted to enjoy this rest 
 and to keep this eternal Sabbath, who teiis you so. 
 How tired do hands and hearts grow in the pursuits 
 of earth, and how little is earthly rest often able to 
 satisfy theui : For the resting times of earth are so 
 Short they are really only momei.cs in which the soul 
 can lest, and then the work and care, and often the 
 pleasures and joys of earth, draw it again into the 
 whirl. I am in peace, and my happiness is en- 
 chanted a thousand-fold by the coraparsions I can 
 make between now and then. Do not then wish me 
 back on earth ! Speak not of the joys which might 
 yet have awaited me there, for if you could bestow 
 thnni on me, it would be like lighting a candle for 
 one who is in perpetual sunlight. Do not say that I 
 should have liked to share in your welfare, and that 
 of your family. I have overcome, call me not back to 
 the battle I 
 
 When I let my past life pass before my eyes, I 
 do not seek in vain for presentiments and anti- 
 cipations of the heavenly Sabbath rest, only the 
 Sabbath bells seldom chimed fully and clearly; 
 their music always seemed to sound from a distance, 
 
 and when I tried to Dress nearer to it. it afconnftd 
 
 , , — j-^ — , 
 
 That is the way indeed with all happiness on earth.. Its 
 
 s 
 
22 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 star, like tne sun, in high latitudes, only appwirs on 
 the honaon On earth you know only tiie dawn and 
 after glow of happiness. Ah, how very often did 
 even the much loved Sunday bring but little Sunday 
 rest and quietness. Your father needed muc!» waititif' 
 on and helping in his ditticult ottice, our parsonage 
 house was seldom empty all the day long, and 1 used 
 to take many cares with me to church and to briuf^ 
 them back again. Saturday evening was really uiy 
 proper iioly time. When everything wasir. '<rder In 
 tlie house, and you children in bed, a wondv h-x quiet- 
 ness settled on our house. I would hear your father's 
 step overhead as he went up and down in his study, 
 learning hissermon by heart ; no one distuibed either 
 him or me on Saturday evening We all knew the 
 Gospel lor the following Sunday; your father always 
 read and explained it at family prayer. The clouds 
 of care an i sadness, which might perhaps have lower- 
 ed round my heart, were dispersed by its light — and 
 my soul kept holy day. But still more heartily did I 
 keep this preparation of the Sabbath on the eves of 
 the great festivals, and on none more gladly than ou 
 the eve of (Christmas. What a pleasant time Christ- 
 mas Eve was at our parsonage ! The important pre- 
 parations were always completed by noon. Before 
 the sun sank to rest we ^v-^re already awaiting the 
 sacred tiii^e. Do you still tonjiciii ^er how yf)u used 
 to stand, even before sue .*,. your hymn-looks 
 
 in your hands ready to go with me to Christmas 
 vespers ? How you watched from the window the 
 course of the snow-flakes, and rejoiced at every 
 
 I* 
 
LFTJERS I'JiOM HEA VEN. 
 
 n 
 
 shadow whj( h fell upon the village, and how even- 
 in*,' came at iasL, and the li<,'ht8 in the chunli tmst 
 their brigli! ness upor. rhe churchyard and towards 
 us, and how the hells then burst tmth, and Advent 
 was over and ChriMi mas come ! 
 
 Xhen your father came in his robes, every one 
 took a light in his hand, which on quiet evenings 
 we lighted directly, and then went past the snow- 
 covered gravestones into the church, which was 
 decorated with a large tree, the brilliancy of whose 
 tapers made our lights superfluous. We keep 
 indeed much happier C'hristmases in heaven, and 
 the song of the angels, which they si ng now as on 
 the first Christmas Eve, sounds far more lovely 
 and solemn than the earthly : Glory t< God in the 
 highest ! I feel an infinite compassi 'U, not for 
 those who desire to keep no lioly day o earth and 
 avoid the rest of the Sabbath, because they fear 
 that the voice of an awakening conscience miglit 
 drown the sound of the bells, but for tfiose who 
 are by the fault of others deprived of th* blessing 
 of the Sabbath rest. For when the hand c m never 
 rest till it sinks fatigued in the evening, t e heart, 
 too, gets no resting time. Oh that men wo; Id only 
 reflect that they make no one happy, wldle \ hey de- 
 prive countless multitudes of eternal ha] )iness ! 
 The names of those who are striving to resto ^ their 
 Sabbath to the people, and of those v/ho are aking 
 care that the light of eternity shall in one \.ay or 
 another shine into the constant obscurity in which so 
 
 many earthly callings are followed, are bless- d in 
 heaven as well as on earth. 
 
 
f¥^«. 
 
 24 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 ^"^^ o.d man, who !md on earth been a railway- 
 guard, caine here a short time since. He had been 
 till nearly the last a stranger to the Gospel. He 
 certamly had sometimes had his Sundays free, but 
 tired out with ti.e Inboure of the past week, he had 
 ^^iven them partly tosleep, andpaitly to his ownafiairs, 
 tor which on week days he had not an hour to spare 
 either by day or by night. On the day of his death, 
 which was a Sunday, he received in the morning from 
 a pious person a little book, containing a text and a 
 short address adapted 'or railway employes. Sittin-^ 
 on his elevated seat, he turned over its pa.^es The 
 text attracted him and he went on reading." He had 
 sped througfi tlie district on many a Sunday the 
 sound of bells which reached his ear from every 
 quarter luid left him indi.'fere.>t. To-day it was 
 otherwise. To-day the bells H.l.ed him to hallow 
 the feabbatn. The whole worthiness of his past 
 hte passed before his mind, and for the first time the 
 words : " God be merciful to me a sinner," fell 
 rom his hps. His heart experienced also the full 
 happmess contained in tliose comforting words- 
 ''Thy sins are forgiven tliee." Just then he saw at 
 the end of the train a slight column of smoke an- 
 nouncing that some danger was threatening, arise 
 from one of the carriages. Mindful of his dutv he 
 rose from his seat, forgetting that in that part of 'the 
 line the train had to pass under a bridge, the arches 
 of which left only room for sitting-one moment and 
 his body lay shattered on the piers of the bridae. 
 He is with us in heaven, fln.1 T wioh t „^.,i.i .-° , 
 
LE TIERS FROMH EA VEN. 25 
 
 words to describe to you the man's gratitude to His 
 Eedeemer ! 
 
 Life m the rest of lieaven is constant worship, 
 but we also hold our special public worship, 
 and It IS my greatest joy to hear your father 
 ,,preach. Preach ! you say, preaching in heaven ! 
 Yes indeed, and quite true preaching there only. 
 Did I not tell you that there are stages and degrees 
 among the blessed in proportion to their knowfed^e 
 and perfection ? And for this very reason there are 
 also eflorts to advance in buth, and holy labours 
 which consist partly in promoting the welfare of our 
 souls, and partly in helping others. They, who on 
 •earth had made progress in the knowledge of 
 heavenly things, which is one of the treasures that 
 rust and moth do not corrupt, are capable of preach- 
 ing in heaven. Not about conversion. The urgent 
 cry : " To-day, if ye will hear His voice, harden^'not 
 your hearts," is not sounded in heaven, nor are 
 there any thoughtless or sermon-hardened hearers 
 Preaching no longer calls upon us to believe, but 
 leads us to vision, to ever deeper and more perfect 
 vision. And this is our most blissful enjovment. 
 Infinite is the depth, infinite is the breadth.' which 
 is opened to the spirit that dives into the Divine 
 ideas of creation and redemption. 
 
 There are many preachers in heaven, many, too, 
 who were never such on earth. There are also 
 congregations. Many faithful souls, whose bodies 
 your father buried on earth, have gathered round 
 inm again and unite with him in Divine worship in 
 
 8 
 
 
 P 
 
 r? 
 
26 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 the ^'reat cathedral; in that cathedral where He 
 Himself is in the midst of us, to whom our songs of 
 praise are addressed, where His holy spoken word 
 takes the place of the reading of the Scriptures on 
 earth, and lasting visible communion with Him, that 
 of the sacraments. You think perhaps that it must 
 be difficult to preach in the Saviour's presence, but 
 you forget that this has to bti done even on earth. 
 Preaching however, with us is nothing else than 
 praising and giving thanks on the one side, and on 
 the other, showing, i,c. leading to vision. Of the 
 hymns of praise which resound in the worship of 
 heaven, where the angels of God form the jhoir, I can 
 tell you nothing. If even the language, which the 
 blessed speak, is quiet different frohi tjie languages 
 of earth, the notes of heaven's hymns of praise have 
 certainly never reached the ear of man. The shep- 
 herds in the fields of Bethlehem were allowed at most 
 to hear from a distance such heavenly sounds, but 
 they could give no description of them to any' one. 
 Go on then rejoicing in the imperfect harmonies of 
 earth, and let them be to you a prophecy of the far 
 more glorious harmonies of heaven. 
 
 Though the Sabbath and festivals of heaven are 
 not interrupted by days of labour in the sweat of the 
 brow, yet heaven, too, has its special days of festival 
 and joy. When a sinner repents on earth, and a lost 
 soul lets itself be found by the Crood Shepherd, the 
 rejoicings of heaven resound with redoubled exulta- 
 tion. The angels who bring the glad-tidings heaven- 
 wards, besrin the strain.and all thp ponmanv r.t k««.,^« 
 
^liere He 
 songs of 
 ken word 
 3tures on 
 Him, that 
 b it must 
 3nce, but 
 on earth. 
 Ise than 
 , and on 
 Of the 
 )rship of 
 )ir, I can 
 hich the 
 mguages 
 ise have 
 he shep- 
 at most 
 ids, but 
 iny one. 
 onies of 
 tlie far 
 
 LE2TERS FROM HEAVEN. ^i 
 
 rejoice with them. Men often die on earth in poverty 
 or even detested by their fellow-men. Their bodieJ 
 are buried in some obscure spot, and no bell tolls for 
 their funerals ; but the Saviour Himself meets the soul 
 that has repented at the last moment, and the celestial 
 choir^ welcome it with triumph. Many a one 
 who has even incurred the penalty of capital punish-' 
 ment. has entered into our peace , while many a oae 
 at whose grave much has been spoken about a happy . 
 departure, is known to none in heaven 
 
 I 
 
 / 
 
 ven are 
 t of the 
 festival 
 d a lost 
 rd, the 
 exulta- 
 leaven- 
 
■nPHE Saviour when on earth was more grieved at 
 A the unbelief of men than at anything else. 
 Not only because His eye could see the darkness of 
 their hearts, which would one day separate them for 
 ever from heaven ; but because He could also see 
 how much peace and happiness they forfeited even 
 on earth. I too now see this in a clearer light than 
 formerly. It is sad that so many, even of those who 
 call themselves active Christians and boast of their 
 more mature knowledge, so unbelievingly oppose plain 
 and definite words of God, or at least suffer them to 
 have no influence upon their life and thouiihts. 
 How many earthly cares would cease, if the dwellers 
 on earth would give its due weight to the saying • 
 " Cast all your care upon God. for He careth for you " 
 or would take to heart the Saviours warning against 
 anxiety ? It is really necessary to assure you from 
 heaven that such words of God are quite true, that 
 the hairs of your head are really numbered, that all 
 your affairs are open to the eye of God, and that 
 It IS Hic holy and gracious will to make all things 
 work together for your good ? Yes, it is still a 
 mystery to myself how so many hours of care and 
 anxiety were possible in my life, a mystery, like 
 •everything connected with human sin. 
 
 Even here in heaven, my dear son, I have often 
 thought about that great care, whip.h haa =« i««« 
 
rieved at 
 ing else, 
 rkness of 
 them for 
 also see 
 :ed even 
 jht than 
 lose who 
 of their 
 )se plain 
 them to 
 loughts. 
 iwellers 
 saying ; 
 OT you," 
 against 
 )u from 
 lie, that 
 that all 
 id that 
 things 
 still a 
 are and 
 7> like 
 
 ) often 
 
 O 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 29 
 
 been the binden of your heart, that care which we 
 had 80 often to share on earth. At first I could not 
 yet understand the reason of it, any more tlian you 
 can now. So I once spoke of it in the Saviour's 
 presence, not with anxious fear after the manner of 
 mortals, but impelled by that faithful maternal 
 affection which does not cease in heaven. My words 
 may Jiowever, have sounded like a request for help 
 Jor He regarded me with a look of holy seriousness,' 
 to which indeed love is not a stranger, with such a 
 look as He once regarded His mother at Cana 
 when she said to Him : " They have no wine "' He' 
 did not say to me : '• Woman, what have I to do 
 with thee ?» but He did say : « I have long known 
 It, My hour is not yet come." And he laid His hand 
 upon my eyes, just as He used to do upon the eyes 
 of the blind upon earth, and I then saw what was 
 previously hidden from me. I beheld the wondrously 
 glorious meaning of your lot. I saw all its threads 
 combining towards a blissful end, and in spirit I 
 already heard you offering glad praise and thanks- 
 giving for that very sorrow which you now find so 
 grievious a burden. You cannot yet understand it 
 but ought it not to be enough for you to know that 
 the baviour knows all, and will make up for all ? 
 
 Of many indeed, who on earth bear heavy burdens 
 It may be said, that they do not desire to be free' 
 from them. ISTot that they look upon them as their 
 cross, which the.i willingly take up for the Lord's ' 
 sake, but that they never talk to Him about them 
 t.^at they do not pray. They so soon forget, or it ia^ 
 
 g 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
30 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 i 
 
 not as vividly impressed upon tlieir souls .09 it should 
 be, that it is thpir sacred riglit to have constant inter- 
 <course with heaven by prayer. Earth with its sin 
 and misery is separated from heaven, but prayers 
 pass over the chasm and are a power here. Eiiectiial, 
 fervent prayers ou earth are events in heaven, which' 
 the blessed talk of and rejoice at. All that is called 
 force and power in the world cannot raise the slight- 
 t3St ripple here, while the prayer of a pious child^can 
 raise mighty waves, which extend throughout all 
 heaven. And when any one prays, who is in 
 -complete union with the will of (lod, and rises to 
 real prayer in the name of Jesus, then all heaven, 
 which ever bows before the will kA God, bows itself! 
 It is as though the praying soul were lifting itself up- 
 wards from the earth and reaching towards the Lord, 
 and He were bending Himself downwards to meet 
 it— until the flesh again draws the soul downwards 
 and the stream of heavenly life, which had begun 
 to flow into it is again interrupted. A short fervent 
 |)rayer is often of the greatest consequence in heaven. 
 The cry: Lord have mercy on me : which man utters 
 in grieveous teniptatioji or trouble, that he may lay 
 hold on the Lord's garment and keep his foot from 
 stumbling, causes such power to go out from the 
 .Saviour as once proceeded from Him on eartli, when 
 the sick woman sought to touch the hem of His gar- 
 Juent that she might be made whole. There is\i- 
 deed much praying of which heaven knows nothing. 
 I am not thinking only of the desecration of iV.^. 
 Lord's prayer. A whole congregation will oft^n say 
 
LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 31 
 
 it should 
 nt iuter- 
 i its sill 
 prayers 
 Itiectual , 
 1, which 
 is called 
 J slight- 
 fiild can 
 out all 
 ) is in 
 rises to 
 heaven, 
 5 itself, 
 self up- 
 e Lord, 
 meet 
 u wards 
 begun 
 fervent 
 leaven. 
 L utters 
 ay lay 
 t from 
 lu the 
 , when 
 is gar- 
 is in- 
 Dthing. 
 )f the 
 3n say 
 
 the Church prayers, which indeed comprise all that 
 a Christian has to pray for, for himself and the 
 Church, and not a soul among tliem iijove heaven 
 by its prayer. l»rayers that seem hearty and fervent 
 are often said, and yet are mere words ; there is spirit 
 in them, but not*the Holy Spirit. Why are so many 
 men ashamed of prayer ? I liave seen a party ready 
 to sit down to dinner and yet hesitating. One looked 
 in perplexity at another, it was easy to see that they 
 were still accustomed to say grace at home, though 
 perhaps the custom was the only scanty remnant "f 
 prayer retained, as if the Lord Jesus could now only 
 be wanted for the purpose of blessing food and drink, 
 «ach was ashamed of the other, and at last they sat 
 down without prayer. Why are men ashamed of 
 prayer when they rejoice in every other manifestation 
 of power, and are proud of their otlier privileges ? 
 It is because such men well know that their prayers 
 are no real prayers, but consist of mere words which 
 mean nothing and affect nothing, and of which they 
 truly ought to be ashamed. 
 
 It is surpassingly pleasant to hear the ancients 
 bear testimony to the hearing of their pmyers. They 
 can best Wo this, not merely because they prayed far 
 more freciuently and fervently than the present gener- 
 ation, which is not healthy and vigorous enough to 
 take in deep breaths of the atmosphere of heaven, 
 but also because they are in a position to see more' 
 perfectly the manner in which their prayers have 
 been heard. My prayers on earth— why should I 
 -^x^xq it, since I need ^ot be ashamed of it even in 
 
 
 f 
 
 / 
 
32 
 
 LE7TERS FHOM HEAVEN. 
 
 lie.iven~clp-fly referred to you, my children, to your 
 bodily and spiritual welfare. I do not as yet see the 
 j-riintiii^Lr of all my prayers, though, according to the 
 custom of heaven. I also call denial granting. The 
 ancients, however, who can overlook and know whole 
 generations of descendants, whose destiny is already 
 happily achieved, are also in a position to per- 
 ceive how God, beyond their desire or under- 
 standing, arranged and guided to such an end all 
 that was once the subject of their prayers. For 
 be very certain that no human life can be lived for 
 itself alone, nor understood by itself. The soul 
 is indeed in its chief concern ]/laced upon its own 
 foundation, but otir greatest help to salvation comes 
 from our connection with our family, and it is from 
 this that we also experience the greatest damage to 
 our spiritual life. Many a man has been supported 
 by the prayers of his belongings— what a mother's 
 prayers have already effected you know well— but 
 many a one has also been burdened with a curse laid 
 upon him by his ancestors. How in the latter case 
 also the guilt of the individual remains, you will ora 
 day learn in heaven. I only want to show you, how the 
 blessing of prayer extends its circle even to after 
 generations. 
 
 Old S. , whom you must certainly still remember, 
 
 since he often came when he was old to our house,' 
 was a man of most fervent prayer and piety ,'but also 
 one most deeply tried. He made a happy 'marriage,, 
 was surrounded by a troop of children, and 
 fiaw them all L'rowirm nn tlio HQnrrK*o..o t^ 
 
 T>'\ r% *tw»w* «•>«<-« 
 
 n.ai2 viu 
 
 b> 
 
\ LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 33 
 
 the sons preparincr for important positions. Tlien 
 one child after another was taken from him. At hist 
 lie stood by the sick bed of his youn-est and favorite 
 son. I have often heard him tell, how he prayed 
 long and fervently at this son's death-bed, that the 
 Lord would at least spare him this child. " Spare 
 him to me," he cried, " for the support of ray totter- 
 iiii4 faith ; spare him, that he may reminci me that 
 I hou art gracious and merciful, and dost not keep 
 Tliy wmth for ever." The son died. The parents 
 were left solitary ; they lived on a long while, stand- 
 ing there like the last columns of a ruined buildina 
 Xor was their old age gladdened by a single -rand- 
 child. And when at last they departed shortly after 
 each other, it was said in the melancholy manner on 
 earth, that their whole race, nay, their very name 
 had now died out. Yes, on earth ; but in heaven 
 •Jiey have them all again, and through the Lord's 
 special grace not one is missing in this circle of those 
 once united on earth. No ties unite them any 
 longer to the earth, so long as it wears the form of 
 perishableness. There is a completed race, the history 
 of which lies disclosed and completed before the eyes 
 of Its members, and one which has been allowed to 
 experience beforeliand that which will one day be 
 the lot of the whole family of Adam. Jt has no 
 longer any concern uith the ohl earth, its history is 
 linished, and it is waiting for a new heaven and a 
 new earth. There are few in heaven who praise so 
 heartily and witii such fnlnp«« of r"!--'- ■• H - " ' 
 that heareth prayer, as thsse blessed ones, to whom, 
 
 o 
 O 
 
 
34 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 humanly speaking, just their moat fervent prayer 
 was denied. 
 
 Therefore, my son, pray, and forget not that prayer 
 is the only bridge, by which thy soul can draw near 
 to heaven, its future lioiue. 
 
VI. 
 
 EACH soul of man is dear to the Saviour and 
 should be dear to us also. In he heavenly life 
 the innermost nature of each soul is indeed naked, 
 and open to the eye, but there is none which is not 
 worthy of our love. It is otherwise on earth, yes, 
 even the believing soul sometimes wears a body 
 wliich is repulsi 'e to the prejucUced eyes of the 
 dwellers on earth, nd which hinders it from mani- 
 festing its real worth. To others again it is made so 
 easy tc win love, a beautiful form, a cheerful and 
 pleasant nature often make even a poorly gifted soul 
 agreeable. Even sin is more easily forgotten or over- 
 looked, when it appears in one whom men call 
 agreeable. For a charming face and graceful move- 
 menis go a great way on earth, even with those 
 whom we might expect to look deeper than the 
 surface, but wlio. perhaps, without further reflection 
 infer an amiable character from a pleasing exterior. 
 
 It is said, indeed, that the soul itself builds up its 
 house the body, and thus impresses upon it its inmost 
 peculiarity. I do not know whether this is true, but 
 this much is certain, that it often finds before it only 
 very rough hewn and angular shaped stones to build 
 with and consequently is often obliged to inhabit a 
 dwelling which it would willingly have other than it 
 is. Even parental love is often deceived on earth 
 and an engaging child is preferred to another who* 
 
 5! 
 
 I 
 
36 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 does not, to human appreliension, possess this happy 
 gift. When I think of these tilings, a melancholy 
 lemembrance of my childhood arises before me. I 
 had a sister, whom you never knew, for she died 
 before you were born. Her countenance was plain 
 and her firrure ungraceful ; her whole demeanour was 
 clumsy and awkward. She trudged with heavy steps 
 among the other children, and her rough and often 
 shrill voice drowned those of the others. No one 
 liked her, although we had nothing to complain of in 
 her, for she wa.s neither spiteful nor mischievous, 
 . but imperturbably good-natured. Even the constant 
 teasing, which she had to endure di»l not harden her 
 heart. And if she had in her brusque and rough 
 way annoyed or hurt one of us she soon came and 
 caressed him, asking pardon with tears in her eyes. 
 Oh how I now perceive what I never fully knew on 
 earth, even in my more mature years, how griev- 
 ously we sisters sinned against the child ! For 
 her brothers understood sooner than we did how 
 to take a right position towards her. She made 
 herself useful to them in all manner of ways, and 
 that at least prevented them from such rude 
 demonstrations of dislike as we were too often guilty 
 of. Our parents, especially our father, strove to be 
 just towards her. She was punished, but with mo- 
 deration, and only when she deserxed or appeared to 
 deserve it. But when we were all together in the 
 evening, and our father was enjoying his time of rest, 
 and we standing round and caressing and coaxing 
 -. -. „..^.....,....,^ ^,,j„.^ ^.^ v.uuiu pusn iLmiiv 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 37 
 
 aside, when she too pressed upon lum with lier violent 
 caresses and unrestrained ,juy, and that slie would 
 stand sobbinj,' in the corner while we were allowed 
 o circle round Ins knees ; my niotlier, too. would re- 
 proach her an.L^riiy when she came home with her 
 frock torn, or grinne.I and lau-hed loudly, whicdi 
 made her hx.k so particularly u<,dy. She did not 
 know that th.. chil.l would thni often run to her room 
 and pray heartily to Go-l to make hei- as good as 
 her brothers and sisters. She has often told me 
 how bitter the days of her childho. d were to her,' 
 and how often she wished to be grown up or not to 
 live any longer, It was especially when she went to 
 school, when she met with ridicule and sarcasm from 
 the young teacher, that her troubles incre^ised. She 
 wrote indeed the worst of hands, and her awkward 
 mouth had much dilliculty in accomodating itself to 
 the sounds of foreign langunges. Many complaints 
 were made of her to my father, wlio at first took his 
 cliild's part, but he could not deny her faults and 
 deficiencies. He trie<l what punisliments would do, 
 tliey were of no avail; he tried kindness, she was 
 very sensible of it, but did not improve. 
 
 One hot summer day we went on an expedition to 
 the forest witli our parents. The girls were seeking 
 for Howers at the edge of the wood, our parents sit! 
 ting at some <listance, when suddenly one of the girls 
 oried out that an adder had stung her. Some stood 
 about her lamenciug, others called to our parents, 
 but Emily rushed forward, knelt down hv the 
 wounded child, and sucked the poison frona the 
 
 
38 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 wound. She Imd heard at school that this was the 
 best remedy for an adder's bite. The event turned 
 out we]] for botli parties. Emily was much praised, 
 she was publicly distinguished at school, and for a 
 time treated with great regard at home. She was 
 herself extremely happy, but it was just in thig 
 happy and joyous humor that she all the more man- 
 ifested her ungainly ways, and she never appeared 
 more unattractive and unpleasant than then. " I 
 was so happy," she said, speaking of that time ; 
 " happy above all, because 1 had for once given 
 satisfaction to my parents. I wished, I was obliged 
 to express my happiness, but it was not my fault 
 that its expression presented an appearance s(> 
 different to my iee lings. I meant to rejoice as you 
 did, but you called my rejoicing a disagreeable noise \ 
 to laugh as you did, but you called it ugly grinning ; I 
 meant to slvip and jump, but it seemed to you 
 clumsy and unlady-lilie behaviour. .Tust when you 
 most blamed me, I could least reproach myself, and 
 my real sins were unperceived by you." She grew on 
 and had come to maturity. Our parents often declared 
 that things could not go on as they were doing, and 
 she often met with harsh treatment. Then her de- 
 meanor considerably altered, but she did not become 
 more engaging. A shy reserve, nay, even bashful- 
 ness, took the place of her extravagance, and her 
 awkward clumsy ways rather increased than dimin- 
 ished. She avoided intercourse with strangers, her 
 anxious glance would wander shyly about the room 
 when there Mere visitors', oi- her overgrown form 
 
LETTERS EROM HEAVEN. 
 
 39 
 
 bound away, and she was glad when she could 
 escape from company and find something to do in 
 the kitchen. Hence the greater and heavier part of 
 the domestic work got gradually laid upon her 
 shoulders ; and in this she v/as indeuitigable, and de- 
 V lighted her parents by the many loving services she 
 rendered to them. The time came when young girls 
 make their appearance in society, and take part in its 
 amusements. Her elder sisters were famous and 
 favorite dancers ; but my mother's sense of justice 
 would not allow them to enjoy a pleasure without 
 her, though it would have been a quite sufficient one 
 for Emily to prepare our garments, and to dress us 
 for the gay party. And when in obedience to her 
 mother,she would go with us in a gay dress, but with a 
 serious countenance, to the festal scene, to t^ke part 
 in a pleasure which would be none to her, she would 
 quietly hum to herself the old song : " My mother 
 likes me spruce." And when the party was over she 
 would go home with us quietly and without a word 
 of complaint, and listen patiently while we were 
 merrily exchanging our experiences. 
 
 About this time a sun-l)eam shone upon her life, 
 but only for a short time. A young man of a suscep- 
 tible, but fickle, disposition, paid her some attention. 
 He felt a certain compassion for the solitary and 
 neglected girl, and for the space of one evening treat- 
 ed her with marked preference. She had never 
 either been warned, or had need of warning, and she 
 
 took his ready words nii«l nnmooninrr tioff^..., * 
 
 genuine coin, and thought herself loved. She now 
 
 s 
 
 
 
 
40 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 really began to flourish : her eyes sparkled, she would 
 take a cheerful share ia conversation, and her words 
 were revelations of a pure, a noble, nay, for I may 
 use the word even in heaven, of a beautiful soul. 
 Thus does the first suiniy day of early spring melt 
 the snowy covering on the flower beds, and the 
 charming and many coloured flowers, which were 
 already blossoming beneath, make their appearance. 
 ]^ut presently the storm blew again over the flowers. 
 She soon perceived that she was deceived, or had 
 deceived hei'seU. The butterfly— to use this in- 
 appropriate image, witli which the world likes to 
 cast the veil of poetry over the sin of wantonly toy- 
 ing with a human «^oiil— flew to another flower. 
 
 81)6 then became graver and quieter than ever, and 
 announced her resolution i>f leaving her father's 
 house, aAd taking a .situation among strangers. 
 Her parents did not withold their permission. .When 
 away she wrote them letters of the tenderest affect- 
 ion, which enabled them to read in her soul more 
 deeply than had ever been possible by oral inter- 
 course. But a shy reserve hung like a veil over her 
 letters also. And even among strangers she was not 
 spared disappointment and pain. She had soon 
 made herself at home in the family with whom she 
 lived, she took with all her heurt to the children, 
 though their education was not one of her duties ; 
 and she bore with patience their rough teasing, and 
 their attempts to make her the butt of their humours. 
 One day the eldest boy had in his boisterous fun 
 
 huHL'' on to t.he» busk'Pl i»f ail r.ljl t.7r>r.ir,„ ,.rl 
 
 i.i.\3 \Yao 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 41 
 
 carrying a lieavy burden, had upset it and then made 
 game of her/ Then Emily, wlio had seen the occur- 
 rence, ventured to make serious representations 
 concerning,' it to her master and mistress, and for the 
 boy's sake, too, urged that Jie sliould be punished. 
 KShe was abruptly refused, and reminded of her 
 menial position. The servants, too, took part against 
 her. Tlie ink upon the page of her journal, on which 
 slie recorded this incident, is- much blotted—many 
 tears having fallen on fc. In other respects, too, she 
 was wanting in that worldly wisdom, which goes so 
 far with the children of this world, who condemn 
 faithful and loving devotion when it adopts a wrong 
 policy, tar more severely than sheer selfishness when 
 dressed up in a few courteous plirases. The poor girl 
 tried in vain to make herself agreeable , she was 
 always just the reverse. 
 
 The marriages of her sisters obliged her to return 
 to her parents' house. Hut she came home only to 
 die. An affection of the lungs of long standing, 
 whose further development she had managed to con- 
 ceal for the sake of her parents, now sliowed itself 
 decidedly, and threw her upon a sick and dying be<l. 
 My mother witnessed lier departure. In theVresence 
 (if death her character displayed a surprising beauty ; 
 her soul had taken the first step towards liberty. 
 She humbly begged pardon of her mother for all she 
 had done amiss in her past life ; she also gave evi- 
 dence of a wonderfully mature experience in her 
 comprehension of the ways in which God had dealt 
 wiih her, ami went home to Him with a song of 
 praise upon her lips. 
 
 s 
 S 
 
 I 
 
 Vf 
 
42 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 ]:)ear strong soul ! you now stand before nie in 
 your true, your heavenly form. Nay, ^t was just 
 because you were stron«r that God could lay upon 
 you, what we could hardly have borne with the same 
 submission and endurance without sinking or suffer- 
 ing shipwreck. You are wearing crowns of victory 
 for faithfully sustaining conflicts such as we never 
 knew, and are beloved by the Saviour and all the 
 blessed. What joy still awaits us when we shall one 
 day see you in the resurrectiom body, when what was 
 sown in weakness shall be raised in power. 
 
 \*. 
 
VII. 
 
 npHE contents of my last letter probably made 
 A a melancholy impression; while to me there- 
 is absolutely notliing melancholy in contemplatini,' 
 my sister's history. This contemplation, on the con- 
 trary, fills me with profound admiration of God's 
 ujlorions ways. 
 
 You are wont to speak so freely of a lost life and 
 of lost happiness, w ithout reflecting that nothing can 
 be inferred concerning a man's happiness orunhappi- 
 ness from the form assumed by his earthl}- life, that 
 short preparatory school for his real life. We can 
 indeed speak even in heaven of men enjoying their 
 life on earth, but its true enjoyment is only possible 
 when tlie thought of being obliged to leave it inspires 
 no fear. And as men are so ready to preach the 
 very virtues they do not possess-— a fact very de- 
 cidedly exemplified in the so-called preachers of 
 toleration — so are their sages accustomed to invite 
 to the enjoyment of a happiness, for which they have 
 hitherto vainly striven, or which they have already 
 lost. 
 
 In my opinion, the fate of those who have lost 
 their earthly, and often their eternal, happiness 
 also, by the faulty of others, must bo a far sadder 
 subject of contem'plation than that of a human life 
 whose happiness is forfeited, and that indeed only 
 in appearance, through a higher will. In the former 
 
 
 
44 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 !'■ \: 
 
 !,!. til 
 
 case their own fault and that of otl^ers are so in- 
 extricably minoled, that only the Eternal Jud<,^e can 
 distingui,«h them. 
 
 You were once, while 1 was still among you, read- 
 ing " Faust " aloud. Perhaps I undervalue the earlier 
 portions of this poem, with their plilosophical reflec- 
 tions, or can, now that I am in possession of the 
 blessedness which has been bestowed upon me as a 
 gift of grace, no longer understand those Titanic 
 struggles which would win heaven by their ow>i 
 power, but that part of the work which is usufily 
 called •' The Gretchen Tragedy," still appears to me 
 unique. For by placing before our eyes the history 
 of a victim, it represents so simply and yet so power- 
 fully a great portion of human misery and grief, 
 which in the contemplation ajid description of human' 
 greatness is elsewhere so willingly overlooked. Faust 
 tinds Gretchen, and is happy in her love, but only 
 for a short time. He struggles and presses onwards ; 
 his love for Gretchen is only an epoch in his life' 
 but hers is her ruin ; it becomes to her a catastrophe! 
 All earthly greatness has such epochs, which becomes 
 catastrophes to others. They who would rise above 
 their fellow-men must trample on them. Such 
 victims, such Gretchens, are numerous. Do not 
 think that in heaven unfortunate love appears a 
 martyrdom—the martyrs we speak of are of quite 
 another kind— or that a Gretchen is happy here, 
 because she was deceived by a Faust ; but think if 
 It must not be very sad for a human lieart on earth 
 to see how many victims human struggles cost, 
 
LET7ERS I ROM HE A VEN. 
 
 45 
 
 so jii- 
 
 whether the struggle he for fortune, fame, honour, or 
 power. 
 
 How strangely diflerent history looks in tiie liglit 
 of heaven. Apprt from the fact that many of the 
 so-called great events appear in our siglit very petty 
 and insignificant, the lialo, with whicli you have 
 crowned it, falls oft' from so many a worldly f-reat- 
 ness. Here, where what was hidden from the earthly 
 sight is disclosed, and where things are recognized in 
 their true connection, the victims also, through whose 
 devotion eartldy greatness has been achieved, are 
 seen and appreciated. Thus we learn to rectjgnise a 
 heroism which no earthly history records^ and to 
 perceive that to be guilt, tremendous guilt, which 
 human observation chooses to regard as a necessary 
 point of transition. Human greatness is often com- 
 posed of nothing else than the sacrifice of others 
 
 sacrifices either willingly offered in self-denying love, 
 or extorted by fraud and deception. 
 
 Hence it is a dangerous and very responsible 
 matter to strive after earthly greatness, for it means 
 to require victims, and to advance is mostly to 
 trample under foot. Do not envy those their respon- 
 sibility, whose earthly vocation involves the demand 
 of victims; and do not forget that the development 
 of the kingdom of God, in which they that humble 
 themselves shall be exalted, requires no such victims. 
 It does indeed rest upon sacrifices and is founded 
 upon the greatest sacrifice ever offered, but upon the 
 free sacrifices of love, which are offered to the Lord 
 Jlimself, and which are neither extorted nor obtained 
 by either fraud or flattery. 
 
 » 
 
 
 fj 
 
46 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 It is most fatal to make otliers the victims of our 
 stru-gle. when they are thereby .lepriveil not only 
 of earthly, but also of eternal happiness ; for sutfer- 
 >ng may lead a man to loss of true faith and to des- 
 pair, and many unhappy souls, downtrodden by others, 
 do not again find either inward support or the way 
 to peace, 
 
 Quite lately an aged man came to us in heaven. 
 "The light of his faith still shed but a feeble light ; 
 he had only attained to faith during the latest period 
 of his life on earth. He seemed to be seeking, but 
 not finding, a soul among the blessed to welcome hini. 
 Listen to his hiaftory, which he had no need to relate. 
 
 He was the son of a countryman of moderate prop, 
 erty, and together with his sister had inherited a 
 cottage and a small piece of land. His parents died 
 early. The village school m aster finding considerable 
 talent for the boy, prepared him for a seminary. He 
 went through its curriculum also, but the modest 
 ipart of a teacher of the lower classes did not content 
 him. A boundless ambition urged him on Awards, a 
 persevering diligence sustained him, and he so far 
 succeeded as to be able to devote himself to study. 
 But this would not have been possible without the 
 assistance of his sister. He had long ago spent every 
 penny of his share of the value of their father's pro- 
 perty. He required more, nay, it was not till his 
 studies were completed, that he was really in need 
 of money to make an extensive literary journey. He 
 wanted to investigate certain voluminous archives, 
 lor he had laid the plan of a work, which was soon 
 

 US of our 
 not only 
 or sutt'er- 
 id to des- 
 by others, 
 the way 
 
 heaven, 
 lie light ; 
 iSt period 
 iing, but 
 orae hinj. 
 to relate, 
 ate prop. 
 lerited a 
 3nts died 
 siderable 
 try. He 
 modest 
 content 
 Awards, a 
 6 so far 
 o study, 
 lout the 
 nt every 
 er's pro- 
 till his 
 in need 
 ly. He 
 rcliives. 
 as soon 
 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 47 
 
 to make his name famous. He requested money 
 from his sister. He would soon repay it with good 
 interest, for he should be well able ; he should'' not 
 only be famous, but rich also. The sister had mean- 
 time engaged herself to a young man who would not 
 hear of the little property being any further encum- 
 bered, and threatened to break ofif the engagement ; 
 for a rustic loves not only the girl of his choice, but 
 her property also, and those who remain faithful to 
 a girl, even when she has lost it, are indeed met with 
 inruraltales, but not in actual life. The girl gave her 
 brother what he required, tiie suitor sulked and main- 
 tained a policy of uncertainty. The biother set out on 
 his travels. A letter soon after arrived from Italy, in 
 which he declared that he was quite near to the'at^ 
 tainment of his object, but that he wanted money 
 once more. He called up all the affection he could 
 towards his sister, he represented to her that it was 
 m her hands to make him happy or miserable, and 
 promised her iieaps of gold within a short time. 
 The sister believed him and borrowed the last capital 
 that could be raised upon the little property. 
 
 And he did attain his object. His work came 
 out and he was famous ; while still upon his travels 
 he received a call to a university at a distance from 
 his native place. Tlien the question was to settle 
 himself, and to live according to his position. He 
 earned much, but liad nothing in hand, and least of all 
 for his sister. He liad not forgotten her, but he left 
 
 'vr,--..u X.XIU1 uxuLiuii or cicner iiis residence or 
 
 welfare. He liked neither dunning nor begging 
 
 § 
 
 i 
 
 
48 
 
 LE72ERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 letters, the time would soon come w,.eii he .should b^ 
 able to keep liis promise without being dunned, and 
 thus years passed awav. 
 
 At home what could not but occur took place 
 Scarcely liad her suitor lieard of her last fatal step 
 than he broke o4' the engagement. They ou^dit to 
 have married long before, for she needed 'the help of 
 a man to manage the pioperty. For this she was no 
 longer able to pay ; the little farm went backwards 
 It was soon evident that it must be sold. She had 
 written several letters to her brother, and sent them 
 to the same address as she had sent the money 
 They were returned with the remark, that the abode 
 of the person addressed was not known. 
 
 Then the bitterest despair seized the poor »drl 
 \ou know what it means to the child of \ peaslint 
 proprietor to be turned out of the parental property 
 as a beggar. The derision of the neighbours, who 
 had always caUed her affection for her brother un- 
 warrantable indiscretion, aggravated her position • 
 her former suitor had found a girl with money. It 
 was said that he aspired to become the possessor of the 
 property to bo^ disposed of. and thus her rival would 
 be mistress in the very place whereshe had hoped to be 
 happy with him. It was more than she could bear 
 Poor human nature so quickly thinks it cannot en- 
 dure a misfortune. On the last day of her sojourn 
 m her home she turned the portraits of her father 
 and mother, which hung over the table, with the 
 faces to the wall-they should not see what hap- 
 
 f.ii« iiuiigou iiUioeir uii Liie door. 
 
LETTERS FHOM HEA VEN, 4^ 
 
 Tlie brother learned all this much later. He sent 
 every year a small sum U. keep up his sister's «rave 
 and continued to live for literature. A long^ime' 
 
 h^'./ . V^''"'^' "^'' ^°^^« »•« ^'«d been 
 brought to the faith by means of an event 
 
 which was a great sh,>ck to him, and died happily' 
 He IS now here, and is seeking his sister. I do not 
 know where she is. or whether he will find her 
 >i"t he has not yet seen the Saviour. He will lay 
 H.s hand upon his heart, and then he will at least 
 no longer seek his sister 
 
 
 c 
 
Vlll. 
 
 TT is Kastt'vtide on earth. The sound ot the 
 A Easter bells reaches us, and they tw<^ in a 
 festival to us as wtdl as you. For we too keep 
 Easter, if only because we are still hastening towards 
 a Kreat Easter Day, which will fulfil the last, and at 
 the same time the most blessed, hope which we still 
 cherish. I am standing with my son at the gate of 
 Paradise, we are looking across towards earth, and I 
 am showing him the house where he was liorn and 
 died. He does not recognise it. He has but few 
 memories of earth ; only the room where lie suflered 
 is still clear to his mind and calls back the remem- 
 brance of the last agony. '• Do you know nothing 
 of our sitting-room," 1 asked, " where you used to 
 sit with us with your playthings, where you so often 
 looked at the picture of the Lord Jesus hanging on 
 the wall, and asked who was the man with the 
 beautiful, good face "? " 
 
 " Ah, no," he said; " I only remember the little 
 dark room, the hard walls which obstructed my 
 sight, only your and my father's pictures are still in 
 my mind." 
 
 " And do you no longer remember how the angel 
 lifted you up from your bed of pain and flew with 
 yoi' to heaven? ^t was a moonlight night. Did 
 you not look down at the houses and towers over 
 which he carried you ? 
 
JM 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 5, 
 
 " 1 only know that the pain all at once cea-sed. 
 Yon had often comforted me by tellinj,' me it would 
 soon l,e over. And when soft arms were about me, 
 I thought they were yours, and I was so glad to be 
 able to sleep once more. All of a sudden I was here 
 Jn this beautiful heaven." 
 
 " Yes, my child, you were ><aved by our Saviour, 
 who rose on Easter day and gained eternal life for 
 you also. He conciuered death an«l the grave." 
 
 " Was then my coming home death ?° Ah, then, 
 what a happy thing it is to die. But what is the 
 grave ? " 
 
 " The little bed in which lies the body which you 
 put off when you left the earth, and which will rise 
 •again on the great day of the Lord for you to put it 
 on again." 
 
 " Will it be happier then than now ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my child." 
 
 " And when will that day come ? " 
 
 " Tlr H} ind hour knoweth no man, but our 
 Fatht^ia heaven. But to hope for that day is one 
 of the iuys of heaven ; it has the same significance 
 111 heaven as the joy of Christmas has on earth." 
 
 Then your father approaclied. He saw that my 
 looks were turned towards earth. ♦' Do you still 
 keep in mind," he said, " the many tears you shed 
 when the child was taken from us, as we then said ? 
 You now know why it was, that you might have it 
 in heaven. The stone is roller away for you from 
 his grave, at which you wept so much ; just a.s so 
 many other grave-stones are rolled away by Him 
 
 sir" 
 
 '\^ 
 
 tZ 
 
 'a 
 
.52 
 
 LETTERS FROM H2A VEN. 
 
 M^ 
 
 who is riser. This is the first Easter you have kept 
 in heaven. Are not all those graves open, which 
 you had according to the will of God to dig and 
 close on earth, even those too which contained no 
 human corpses. For our pilgrimage on earth was 
 over graves to graves. Did we not have to buiy 
 many a hope and many a success ? Were not count- 
 less ger:^ planted in our life, which had to be 
 destroyed ? Nay, was it not ^ell that many a vital 
 germ was hidden in the grave, to be developed in a 
 better atmosphere and under a warmer sun, instead 
 of being artificially reared on earth to fade pre- 
 maturely ?" 
 
 I heard him in silence, it was a great, . sacred 
 Easter joy for me, to perceive how right he was. 
 
 He continued : " The poor dwellers on earth 
 have indeed to dig many graves in which no Divine 
 seed is laid, and for which there is therefore no 
 resurrection moaning. What their sin and folly 
 bring forth, so often quickly returns to the grave. 
 Hence many a life is a constant funeral procession 
 and yet ends without an Easter Day. ^n my 
 younger days, before I married you, I kept, as you 
 know, an educational establishment. I was heart 
 and soul a schoolmaster, and yet I cherished a firm 
 assurance that I should get rich through my calling. 
 For years I incessantly entertained this hope, little 
 as the result justified it. It had long been a decayed 
 branch, while I was still taking it for a living one, 
 which must bear fruit at last. I buried the hope, it 
 was no Divine seeti, and its grave remains closed. 
 
 ,.11, 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 53 
 
 I entered the ministry in the full j-ossession of the 
 vigour of manhood, not wifhout self-consciousness 
 and with the assurance of possessing certain gifts. 
 The simple village benefice was to be only the ''first 
 stage in a career of fame. I fulfilled my duties with 
 £eal and ardour, I preached with fervour, and as I 
 believed not without eloquence. I could not fail to 
 be soon famous. At last, at last I saw that I was 
 nothing better than many others. As a mother 
 carries about yet awhile her dead child, so did I still 
 drag about this hope with me, till at last I dug it a 
 grave. It was no Divine seed, and the grave re- 
 mains closed." 
 
 But I replied, " Many graves have been opened to 
 you, and young and vigorous life has arisen from 
 them." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " blessed be God, who lets nothing, 
 that He has planted, die. I had while even a chiid 
 a talent for, and delight in music. I felt myself 
 urged by an irresistible inclination, melodies and 
 harmonies resounded in my soul, and I felt 
 that I only wanted the necessary cultivation to 
 give form and expression to what was hovering as a 
 finished image before my inner sense. But my 
 parents had good r-ason for dissuading me from the 
 career of a musician. I had to content myself with 
 a little pianoforte playing. The older I grew, and 
 the ntore the labours of my calling and the instruc- 
 tion of children estranged me from this certainly 
 souiiess iastrument, the less did what my hands 
 could produce upon it answer to my ideals— -and 
 
 S 
 
 S 
 
 ',. r 
 
54 
 
 LETTERS EROAf HEAVEN, 
 
 % 
 
 m 
 
 Ito! 
 
 now ? Music on earth so often begins to lament 
 just when it means to be serious and solemn, and 
 many of its deepest creations are but paraphrases of 
 the Easter complaint: Who shaU roll aWay the 
 stone from the grave ? When too it strikes notes of 
 jpy, it so easily becomes sensuous and draws the 
 spirit downwards instead of elevating it. The music 
 of earth resembles its ^olian harps, which wail in 
 ever unresolved discords, while the music of heaven 
 knows only full pure concords, and abundant and 
 varied as it is only one text :' Haltelujah." 
 
 While your father thus spoke I was thinking how 
 magnificently he pla} s on the heavenly harp, from 
 which under his hand ever fresh and charming 
 melodies are poured forth. But he is i;ight, all these 
 melodies need only one text : Hallelujah ! 
 
 " It seemed just as hard to me," continued he, " to 
 lay aside, when circumstances compelled mfe, all 
 serious literary study. My thirst after knowledge 
 wj?s not quenched, but access to libraries was at my 
 lonely country parish either difficult or impossible. 
 With the expense entailed by the education of my 
 children, the payment of heavj- booksellers' bills was 
 out of question, besides I was mostly too tired aiid 
 exhausted by my professional labours to be able to 
 undertake serious studies — and now ? ah, what 
 abundant compensation I have, now I am always 
 studying— to use this poor word— without books, 
 without parchments, and also without fatigue and dis- 
 appointment." 
 
 words I was siili tliinkino of a larae 
 
 
 A ^ 
 
 i-l 
 
 tucsy 
 
 Pi, 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 55 
 
 grave, before which he had often stwd on earth with 
 the Easter complaint : Who shall roll away the 
 stone from the door of the sepulchre .? In it lay his 
 fruitless labour. How often he.d he lamented the 
 religious indifference of his well to-do parishioners, 
 the cold and apathetic manner in which people, 
 whom custom still bro.ight regularly to church, 
 listened to sermons in which he haJ put his whole 
 heart, the lack of diligence in works of Christian 
 love, the deterioration of morals in the midst of ex- 
 ternal churchmanship. On earth ho had often had his 
 liours of deep despondency, when like Elijah under 
 the juniper tree he sighed : 
 " It is enough ; Lord, take away my life." 
 
 When I reminded him of this grave he smiled and 
 glanced at the souls of former parishioners, who were 
 just now near us and listening to our discourse. 
 
 " Many a mistake, also," said he, " lies in this grave. 
 Many are called, but few are chosen. In my lawful, 
 nay, enjoined, endeavor to bring the word to all, I so 
 easily forgot, that on not t>ne page of Holy Scripture 
 is the hope held out to us that all, nay, that even the 
 greater part will accept it. It is just we village 
 pastors, who have managed to keep our flocks within 
 the limits of churchmanship and may perhaps have 
 also seen them walking in the ways of legal respect- 
 ability, who were so apt to confound this flock of 
 ours with that great flock, which is to be gathered to 
 the Good Shepherd. We were so exacting as to re- 
 quire more than the Lord Himself, who did iiot attain 
 
 1 ,_:.._ 
 
 .t _. 
 
 ;g !;i uVuli Lw ;iii. r»cSiuc, we jUCige iiiCU far tOO 
 
 much according to our own pattern 
 
 We thought 
 
56 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 we were applying to them the standard of Chris- 
 tianity, and were all tlie while measuring them with 
 the measure of a culture and civilization entirely 
 strange to them ; in short we deceived ourselves at 
 every turn, and most of all where we thought our- 
 selves most certain. Blessed be the Lord, who has 
 enlightened even this darkness with His Easter light." 
 A large company of the'blessed had now assembled 
 around us. I recognised the face of many a faithful 
 friend, whom I had formerly seen in our village 
 church. And while we were thus talking the ris^n 
 Saviour Hiniself stood in our midst and said: 
 " Peace be unto you." Then were we glad when we 
 saw the Loru. 
 
 ', ) 
 
 ,4 
 
IX. 
 
 MY letters are indeed specially addressed to you, 
 my dear son; but I should rejoice if others 
 also had knowledge of their contents. The fact that 
 I write them from heaven, frees me from the reproach 
 •<3f beholding the affairs of the world with a narrow 
 horizon, or viewing them from a limited, perhaps the 
 pastoral stand-point. But as for yourself, so long as 
 you are still on earth, put up quietly \vith this 
 reproach of your ofiBce, nay, I might say that you can 
 scarcely escape it in your intercourse with the so- 
 called cultured of earth, if you mean to keep your 
 proper place. Hold your office in honour, blessed of 
 God and excellent as it is, and bring up at least one 
 of your sons a clergyman. I say educate him for 
 this vocation, and then he will in time have a desire 
 for it, and you will escape the sad experience of many 
 f» clergyman, that his sons are certain about nothing. 
 else, than that they will not be theologians. 
 
 We stand on a limited stand-point chiefly when 
 we disjoin the earthly life from that heavenly one, 
 from which alone it can be understood. It is not 
 possible to jadge of the part, when the whole is 
 ignored. 
 
 All worldly-minded men commit this fault. You 
 know this indeed best, and w© have often spoken of 
 
 the follv of findilif? tho nh'^nt. nf thct aavfhlv lifo in 
 
 the earthly life itself, and of regarding the so-called 
 
58 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 advance in culture of humanity as its only aim- 
 This '.A a truly limited stand-point. I still know in- 
 deed right well, that on earth 1 too sometimes took 
 part in the song, which nien so delight to sing in 
 their own praise, and whose never-ending refrai© is^ 
 what splendid progress they have made. :N'ok 4 
 know that real and important progress in the earthly 
 life took place only in the sphere of the kingdom of 
 God, or was brought into the sphere of secular life 
 by means of the kingdom of God. That man has 
 made a certain degree of progress in his natural 
 task, the subdual of the earth, is a matter quite self- 
 evident, and does not deserve our admiration in the 
 degree that this is accorded on earth. 
 
 I have lately become acquainted with a Christian 
 Eoman woman, who lived on earth in the second 
 century of the Christian era. The conversation of 
 the blessed does not in general turn chiefly on 
 earthly things. This young woman, who with her 
 husband immigrated to liome as a heathen, was 
 there converted to Christianity, but obliged to flee 
 in one of the great persecutions, and to find a sad 
 end in her flight, was very well informed concern- 
 ing the condition of the kingdom of God in the 
 nineteenth century, while ([uite ignorant of merely 
 secular events. I told her much about the earthly 
 life of the present. To her question, whether meii 
 still launched forth as in he.' times into exaggerated 
 praises of the contury in which they themselves 
 lived : I informed her, how whole countries were 
 
 now traVPrspd \^^ f.lio elmrtoQf fimn .,^^. 
 
 . — • -.-v viinv •-■.|ruz 
 
 1_ 
 
 IIUXJ lUiiUo 
 
 how by the help of a mysterious power of nature 
 
LE2TKRS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 59- 
 
 was 
 flee 
 sad 
 
 words and thoughts could he carried with speed, 
 from one' end of the earth to the other; liow 
 machinery took in various forms the place of human 
 labour, without thereby exciting in her any special 
 interest. And wlien 1 referred her to the important 
 and marked changes which had been produced in 
 the social and individual life of man by these inven- 
 tions and discoveries, she asked with a gentle smile :• 
 " Bo men still, feed upon the produce of tlie field 
 and the flesh of beasts ? Do they still build houses 
 of stohe to protect themselves from the cold ? Do 
 they still express those thoughts which they have no 
 opportunity of uttering by conventional signs drawn 
 upon a tablet ? Is the art of perserving a diseased 
 life still a doubtful oue, or at any rate dependent for 
 its results upon many assumpliions ?' And when 
 I had answered all these questions in the affirm- 
 ative, I was obliged to own, that the progress of 
 mankind, with respect to the long series of years ' 
 they had passed through, and the power they were 
 endowed with of subduing the earth, was not with- 
 out further ceremony to be regai-ded as quite 
 astonishing, but, considering their innate instinct 
 for research and action, a thing which might fairly 
 be expected. When she next referred me to the 
 facts, that the greater portion of the inhabitants of 
 the earth were still heathen, that the savage 
 brutality and barbarism of whole nations had for 
 centuries been well known, but that, instead of 
 trying to obviate them, men had preferred to take 
 
 ^_._ „. _,. ,,,^„^ viicii uv,ij guiii antt pront,; 
 
 nay, that not until pious men had begun to bring 
 
 % 
 
 —3 
 
6o 
 
 LETTERS FJiOM HEAVEN. 
 
 i 
 I 
 
 i ( 
 
 ii: 
 
 Ii 
 I ^ 
 
 the Gospel to tliem, had people in general enter- 
 tained the idea that such nations also belonged to 
 theii- common liuman nature, and liad then endea- 
 voured at the best to force civilization upon them, 
 I was entirely silenced. 
 
 It is by no means the object of these communi- 
 cations to mislead you or any one who may read 
 them, to contempt for the world, nor to a depreci- 
 ation of the duties laid upon you as dwellers upon 
 earth during the time of your earthly pilgrimage. 
 What great cause you too have to enjoy life, I will 
 speak about -nother time, and will now only say 
 that vigorous, cheerful work, in your God-given 
 calling, and faithful heartfelt interest in the lot of 
 others, may be ver)» well combined with the heavenly 
 calling; nay, are found in the highest degree just 
 where the eternal vocation is most cared for. Only 
 avoid that hollow self-admiration, which finds in an 
 often very moderate knowledge and some slight 
 experience in the things of external life, a com- 
 pensation for the most sacred possessions of mankind, 
 and persuades itself, that we can really know nothing 
 of heavenly things. When eminent geniuses boast 
 of their knowledge, and place the boundaries of tlie 
 knowable just where their own capacity of knowing 
 ceases, this may to a certain degree be accounted 
 for; though I can by no means understand, how 
 such inquirers are able to avoid upon their path of 
 investigation, God and eternity, which are every- 
 where pressing upon them. But it is especially sad, 
 when the mass, with its avemge or half the average 
 culture, will bow before any one who calls himself a 
 
LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 6i 
 
 
 master on earth, to reverence his wisdom, but not 
 before Him who is the Master of us all. 
 
 Vou still remember your cousin Charles, the re- 
 tined and cultured town-j^entleman, who sometimes 
 visited us at our pjirsonajjfe. I was always rather 
 nervous when he ainiuunced an intended visit, not 
 tliat I was ashamed of our rustic menage before a 
 sijoilt inhabitant of a city — a village pastor's wife 
 is too proud for that— but because I was vexed at 
 his shameless though aristocratic indifference to 
 (Christianity and the Church, and foresaw sooner or 
 later exciting scenes between him and my husband. 
 They never took place, however, my cousin's refined 
 tact, to do him justice, was able to prevent them. I 
 too suffered more by his presence than your father, 
 who went on quietly in his accustomed way, con- 
 ducted his family worship, made you children sing 
 your hymns, and never by a single step acted in a 
 manner unbecoming a Christian houseiiolder. 
 
 Charles never ventured upon yourjfather, but he 
 only the more frequently played oft' the light of his 
 city culture upon me though this was perliaps done 
 by only a smile. One Sunda}- during afternoon service 
 1 was alone with him at the parsonage. He had, in 
 compliance with a courteous invitation of your father's 
 been present at morning service — of course he stayed 
 at home in the afternoon and thus obliged me to do 
 the same. I took up a book, and when he perceived 
 that I did not care for conversation, he laid hold of a 
 periodical which was lying on the tal)le. It was a 
 missionary report ; he put it back with a smile, went 
 to the little book-case hanging on the wall, and read 
 
 
 
 xZ 
 
■62 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 ■offinoiiotonou.sly the titles: " P.ible," '• Hymnbook," 
 '•Book of Devotions," "The Model of Prayer!" 
 "Pslater and Harp," " Pahii-leaves," etc.— he 
 .ftclgeted about a little mid then tuxiied to the piano. 
 He sat down and played fantasias and operas— tlie 
 sound tiould not fail to be heard in the church close 
 -at hand, where the sermon was now being preached. 
 1 pressed him to leave off and told him the reason of 
 my request, and when he got up willingly and with- 
 out a wortl t.f displeasure. 1 thought it a favourable 
 •opportunity for appealing for once to his heart and 
 conscience. I chose this time, if only that your 
 father might not be obliged to share in an explana- 
 tion, which might subsequently take place. He 
 listened quietly, and then said coldly : " Cousin, you 
 know that T like ' to come and see you, my only 
 relative. Perhaps I am not so bad as you think, 
 since I keep up a hearty affection for you, who think 
 so differently. But I do not choose to talk of such 
 things, and excuse me, I also wish to hear nothin^^ 
 about them \ " ' 
 
 " Are you not then a Christian i " asked I. 
 
 " I am scarcely able to answer your question, at 
 all events I keep my Christianity to myself." In 
 fact we never spoke again of such tilings. 
 
 His wife, who was much beloved by me in after 
 years, died happily ; she hopes, that he too will one 
 day find the way to heaven. But she has confirmed 
 what 1 feared, that till her departure from earth he 
 continued an unbeliever. Others may be deceived, 
 ■but M wife, a faithful pious wife, will find an 
 • •j.j.-it.i£iiivj ui itjuKHig mio uifi (itjpiiis 01 her 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 63 
 
 husband's heart — especially a much loved husband's. 
 She soon perceived, that he did not possess that mature 
 scientific knowledge, which might have i^iven him an 
 apparent compensation for faith. He read much, but 
 only such books as did not touch upon the prolvince 
 of religion, and also such as made tio special de- 
 mands upon thought. But his kind and j^eiitle 
 nature, and above all the marked family affe- tion 
 which distinguished him, for a long time kept up in 
 her the delusion, that there must be somethinc in 
 his religion, which he declared he kept to himself. 
 Soon, however, she could not fail to perceive that 
 everything about him of an externally Christian 
 kind was the result of a pious and strict education, 
 while his inmost heart — his own province I must 
 call it — was dead. He once confessed to her himself 
 that he had no wish to be saved, and had nothing to 
 reply to the <iuestion : Did he then wish to be lost, 
 but : " Time will show." Yes, the light shineth in 
 the darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not. 
 But, my son, is not this darkness a limited stand- 
 point ? 
 
 "ft 
 
 i 
 
 i\ 
 
 "iS 
 
k 
 
 TJ KAVKK i8 ji world of endless extent, but it is 
 A 1 also tt house, our Father's house. A world 
 and a house, what C(.utrasts to an inhabitant of earth ? 
 How often does he look lonjriugly out fiom the con- 
 finement of a house at the blue chain of hills that 
 bound his horizon ! When the bird of passage, in 
 anticipation of short and gloomy days, begins its flight 
 towards light, warmth and freedom, he gazes after it 
 and would like to depart with it. " My heart is. 
 longing for the distant land," he cries. And when- 
 he is afterwards in a dist nit land, and far from home, 
 he wishes himself back in the nairow, familiar house', 
 and home-sickness attacks him with the same force 
 as did formerly the impulse to go to a distance. 
 
 We are always at home, being always in our 
 Father's house. And yet the glorious length and 
 breadth of Paradise is ever|open to us. Since no. 
 trost threatens, no need of sleep detains, and no night 
 alarms us, the dwellings, of which there are so many 
 in our Father's house, are nothing that remind us of 
 protection or refuge ; they are only liomes, nay, after 
 all, this whole great Paradise is our home and abode. 
 
 Paradise is like earth, a creation of God, but a 
 nmch more glorious and perfeu creation. It is, 
 however, easy to see that both were designed by 
 the same Architect. And since the earthly and the 
 heavenly creation resemble each other, in somewhat 
 the same manner as ' 
 
 the orir^inp. ] 
 
 i--.:r^lIILfiCO its 
 
lis 
 
 LET2ERS FROM HEA VEN. 65 
 
 imperfect copy, one can speak of tlie glories of 
 I'rtiudise even to an earthly understaiidiug. Just 
 take from the earthly creation all that reminds of 
 death and corruption, imagine all traces of the 
 perishableness manifested by all that <,'rows and 
 hlooma removed, let ^11 ecdours be brighter, all 
 blossoms more fully developed, all perfume.^ more 
 exquisite, let it be alwnys May, and tlien you will 
 grt at I(!ast some taint notion of the glory that 
 surrounds us. 
 
 Taradise is "surrounded by purple mountain 
 ranges, and the streams run down as bright as 
 silver from ^:. ' iUs, while the light is refracted in 
 them m a-, ever-changing and ever-charming irides- 
 cence. J IS. one r, y of the brightness and glorious 
 colouring ot ' ar. ase has reached the eyes of those, 
 who have seea on earth the Alpine glow. But the 
 mountains of earth, when you approach them, are 
 dead, no, dying rook, are witnesses to violent and 
 destructive forces, and prophets of a future destruc- 
 tion of the entire earthly creation. The heavenly 
 lulls are the more beautiful ,tlie nearer you get to 
 them, and are, separately and in detail" abodes of 
 life. Charmnig meadows, interspersed with shady- 
 groves slope downwards to the valleys, while every- 
 where there is verdure, growth, and fragrance 
 Trees, plants, and flowers in harmonious interchancre 
 and of every variety of colon, are seen on all sides' 
 No aeed for special .nutriment distinguishes one 
 plant from another, no night frosts check or kill the 
 blossoms, or autumnal winds strip off' the leaves and 
 scatcer uiem on the] path. Everything is in the 
 
 5 
 
 
 -J 
 
 j 
 
 l> 
 
€6 
 
 LE ITERS FROM HE A VEN, 
 
 vigour of perpetual youth, not a blossom is over- 
 blown, not a branch withers. Every change is only 
 a transition to another {'orm of beauty. The eaithly 
 blossom dies so quickly. It is only by dying that it 
 brings forth the seed, which, after long waitiug and 
 hoping, again gives promise of blooming for a sliort 
 period — an image of tlie earthly happiness, which, 
 after long waiting and hoping, blooms for a short day 
 only to pass away ; nay, that it may pass away in 
 order to atfbrd a new hope. Heaven. ' flowers are 
 always blooming, for this was the conception of God 
 concerning flowers. A throng of joyous creatures 
 fills this beauteous world. Creation no longer groans, 
 but has its share in the liberty of the children of God. 
 No bird prepares itself for flight, and no worm is 
 crushed under our footstep. Everything breathes 
 life. All creatures, the flowers and grasses, the 
 butterflies, those flowers of the air, the birds of the 
 forest, breathe life and thanks for life. Unsatisfied 
 desire is no longer heard in the lay of the bird, but 
 full perfect enjoyment of the present. We no 
 longer listen to it in a dreamy, reflective, longing 
 manner, its songs are the charming echo of our own 
 songs, they are in wonderful accord with the 
 harmonies of the blessed. 
 
 You know the story of the monk who once in a 
 forest listened in a dream ta the song of a bird from 
 Parad'se, and forgot a millennium over it, that 
 story which a dear deceased friend related so charm- 
 ingly to you. " The tones were so mournful, as if 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 67 
 
 intervals so glad and happy, as if they were telling 
 of a now speedily approaching imperishable glory of 
 the creatures," so said he of the song of the bird. 
 But only to the earthly ear can the song of the bird 
 of Paradise have aught of mourning and lament- 
 ation ; to the blessed it laments for nothing, and 
 predicts nothing more. 
 
 In the midst of heaven stands tlie City of God, 
 the Heavenly Jerusalem, the dwelling-place of the 
 elect, and the ch'ief place of '^.evotion. As Israel 
 docked from every land to the temple, to approach 
 at least once in the year the Holy place and the 
 Holy of Holies, so do all souls go towards the Xew 
 Jerusalem with the true an(^ ^ternal Holy of Holies. 
 There, too, dp songs resound in loud chorus, when 
 the troups of pilgrims see the golden pinnacles of tlie 
 holy city glitter upon the mountain. Their feet 
 <levoutly tread the golden streets, and approach the 
 lofty temple, where no sacrifice is any longer offered, 
 and there are not many priests waiting for the 
 victim ; where only one l*riest, who was Himself ^ 
 Victim, stands in the holy place : where no veil any 
 longer corceals the Holy of Holies, and yet every 
 head, knowing itself as yet imperfect and incomplete, 
 as lowered before the glory which proceeds there- 
 from, and all lips love to join in the Seraphim's song 
 of praise to the thrice Holy. 
 
 Rut I could also show you works of man's hands 
 in heaven, if you will not misunderstand the word 
 hands. As it is permitted to man on earth to use 
 to make clianges in, the creatures of God, so is this 
 
 B 
 
68 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA YEN. 
 
 y.f 
 
 permitted to' us in a far liigher degree. Only in the 
 heavenly world we are spared labour in the sweat 
 of the brow; it is the thought and word that work. 
 As creatures, our agency cannot properly speakin^^ 
 be caP.ed creative, but it is allowed to us as to you 
 to mould and fasliion matter according to our will 
 Kvery soul provides its surroundings in accordance 
 with Its own nature ; it not only lives in. but forms 
 Its home. I have my flower-bed in heaven as I had 
 on earth. And my favourite flower, mignonette, is 
 stdl my favourite in heaven. Its brilliant, tender 
 corollas remind me of many a happy hour on earth 
 It was mignonette that yotr father plucked for me 
 when shortly after I became acquainted with him, I 
 was taking a waljv with him i.i the garden. It wa«^ 
 mignonette that you brought me" when, having 
 escaped fb , hand of the nurse, ) .u went alone for 
 the first time into the gardan to get your mother a 
 flower, and it was the scent of mignonette which 
 reached me when, on the morning of my dying day 
 I looked out at the rising sun; you have also 
 planted mignonette on my grave. Therefore, I rear 
 It heie too. Only to rear flowers in heaven no 
 longer means to keep them from harm, or to pro- 
 mote their growth, but to understand them as master- 
 pieces of God. 
 
 My favourite place is under the green jasmine 
 arbour, thence my eyes wander to the lovely lake, 
 whose sparkling waves are transparent to the very 
 bottom. Water is the eye of the landscape. As we 
 look into the pvps of n man ir^ c.^. — i, .•_!._ i • 
 
 I 
 
ily ill tlie 
 tie sweat 
 at work, 
 speaking 
 =; to you 
 :)ur will, 
 corclance 
 Lit forms 
 as I had 
 mette, is 
 fc, tender 
 u eartli. 
 for me, 
 h him, I 
 It was 
 having 
 lone for 
 lother a 
 '. which 
 ng day, 
 ve also 
 3, I rear 
 veil no 
 to pro- 
 master- 
 
 iasmine 
 
 y lake, 
 
 IB very 
 
 As we 
 
 5 sours 
 
 ! 
 
 J^ETIERS I'ROM HEAVEA. - 69 
 
 inmost life and feeling, so on eart.h do wb look reflect- 
 ively and mciuiringly into the water to fathom the 
 inmost life of nature. But we are ever again dis- 
 appointed, nature does iiot manifest he .-self throucdi 
 - these ner eyes. Hence the longing, anxious feelim. 
 which comes over the dwellers upon earth on the 
 banks of rivers, hence those enticements of tne mer- 
 maid m the poem, to come down and be safe. 
 
 The streams of heaven satisfy the desires of contem- 
 plative souls. like eyes beaming wit'i love, which 
 fully and enti. .y show the life and feelings of tiie 
 soul they look at us o.nd apeak to us in clear and 
 intelligible language, of the power and -oodness of 
 Him, who called the wliuie creation, the heavenly as 
 well as the earthly, in^.o existence, for the purpose of 
 aiaiving the being made after His image happy 
 
 And on the otiier «ide I look towards our church. 
 Oh, that I could make plain to you what tlie inhabit- 
 ants of heaven think of a house of God, a place for 
 devotion ! As yet, however, it is beyond your power 
 conceive 01 a building wAicli is not chained to 
 the earth by dead and heavy masses, which does not 
 need boldly to stretcli beyond arclies and pillars in 
 order to give expression to heavei.ward aspirations, 
 whicn does not in all its parts point to a future 
 world, but expresses the perfect feeling of a present 
 
 And when you seek me in spirit and would like 
 to know where I am, remember one thing, I am at 
 
 home with the Lord, and glad to be at lu,me 
 not wish • - - 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 il-'i 
 
 Do 
 juu cuuKi nnu out the spot in the starry 
 
 ...1-1 
 

 70 LETTERS . .iOM HE A VEN. 
 
 skies which forms the abode of the blessed. For 
 these starry skies are like a curtain which conceals a 
 secret. You may know the curtain accurately 
 observe its several threads, and analyse tliem into 
 their component elements. But you cannot thereby 
 •look behind it. The milky way with its starry host 
 the seven stars and Orion, ai-e the decomtion of this 
 curtain. When it is once drawn aside before your 
 eyes, you see more than the curtain allowed you to 
 see^ But on earth, where you compute by paces 
 and are inspired with a certain amount of dismay by 
 an accurate conception of the distance between two 
 neighbou ng stars, you have no measure for the 
 nfinite ana eternal. Be not afraid, only believe, and 
 take care tliat yoi^ to^ one day come home 
 
 11" 
 
XI. 
 
 O ALVATIOX is the fiee gift of (lod. Here in 
 >^J heaven, where our past life with all its shadows 
 stands clearly before our eyes, and where we perceive, 
 that anything we may have done right was t!ie result 
 of training, and therefore not at all to be regarded in 
 the light of merit, there is no one who could enter- 
 tain the notion of having earned salvation. On the 
 contrary we thankfully acknowledge how much must 
 have been forgiven for us to be saved. We are just 
 creatures of (lod corporeally and spiritually, and are 
 happy to be such. We are all guests at the table of 
 the great and wealthy Lord, to whom we have given 
 nothing, to whom here also we can give nothing 
 All alike loved, all alike happy. For though there 
 lie differences and degrees among the blessed, and 
 though every fresh advance in knowledge and holi- 
 ness opens ever new delights to the soul, and leads 
 It into ever closer communion with the Lord, yet 
 externally this difference is only shown by the fact, 
 that ever greater tasks are placed before the advan^ 
 cing soul To be happy is to serve. The more im- 
 perfect the soul is, the more claim it Sus to the service 
 others ; the more perfect it is, the more capable it is 
 of rendering it to others. 
 
 It is of great importance even to tlie earthly life 
 to know that wc are destined for service. li* any 
 will be chief among you, let :\a be your ser--r 
 
 as* 
 "•3 
 
 
1 ji;. 
 
 ■,\ 
 
 
 72 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 SMcl our Lord on earth. T],e earthly calling is indeed 
 regarded as a service ; but li.nv often is the service 
 ot our calhng perforn.ed merely for the purpose of 
 ruling outside that calling, u. oth.r word, for self 
 J^ie impulse to self-dep..ndei!Ctv wh:ch i. in every 
 inan is indeed quite justifiabic, but this i. nothino 
 ■else than liberty to u^rve. \i i« ^^ tha. .his sel^ 
 reliance is on e,.rth .0 often regarded as a living for 
 oiies^^f, as a ;.i ,!8 of independence, and as such set 
 "P a. u. o]3Ject ... life. The poor world h;i3 to pay 
 for this folly by ihe Aict, iliat whole classes, nav a 
 consideiuole portion of mankind, ta^' wiih exa^pera- 
 tion and discont^^nt about the r^^dits of man, wliile 
 they care to hear nothing about his duties. Men are 
 •only too much convinced of the necessity of labour, 
 but, labour is to most on! y a means to ali end, they 
 vvork that they may soon wxtain to not beino' oblioed 
 ^o work, and forget that r.ork is service and°its own 
 object, Service does not case to all eternity, and to 
 be able to work is happiness, 
 
 As long as I lived on earth as a clergvman's wife 
 in as aptive intercourse with the peasants and day 
 labourers of our congregation, as with members of the 
 so-called upper classes, and able by mv position to 
 • know and to treat persons according to "their inward 
 worth, I scarcely perceived to the extent I now do, 
 how much work properly so called, hand-work is 
 undervalued on earth Were not our Lord's discip- 
 les and favourites on earth handicraftsmen ? You 
 divide so-called civilized mankind into two o-reat 
 castes,^ separated by a broad chasm. You persuade 
 yorirselves thctl it is educati n that divides them. 
 
 k^*f'-^;: 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. ' 73 
 
 and you place the educated and the uneducated 
 opposite to each other. But does not the wealthy 
 parvenu, who can perhaps scarcely write his name, 
 take Iiis place among the upper ten thousand ? and 
 to which class does the rehned and well-educated 
 daughter of the placeman belong, when oi-phaned and 
 forsaken she is obliged to earn her living by the 
 work of her hands ^ Oh that men would learn to 
 honour work, and to regard it as service ! Many a 
 tear would therel)y be dried. You hear daily the 
 loud complaints of those who are discontented at hav- 
 ing to work with their liands , but the .pieter and 
 quite as touching complaints of so many thousands, 
 •especially of the female sex, whom this pre^adice 
 debars from the use of their liands in faithful and 
 diligent household service, and who desire to serve 
 mankind only by their knowledge, which no one 
 values— thv^se you do not hear. 
 
 But to many it is still harder than rendering 
 service to require it— to comman.l. Do not be 
 astonished that such things should seem of import- 
 ance to me in heaven. Every human soul is of 
 infinite value in our eyes, and if one of the least has 
 been perplexed or embittered, and thereby led astray, 
 it is in our estimation a matter of the greatest im- 
 portance. Woman is indeed called to serve, and as 
 one of your wise men has well said, service is her 
 <lestiny. For the perfection of her nature consists in 
 devoted personal service. But this very circum- 
 stance makes it also moredifficult to her than to a man 
 to command rightly ; and a woman will only serve a 
 
 
 w 
 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 

 74 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 woman willingly and with true devotion, when each, 
 vies with the other in some common service. The 
 industrious wife of the artiscan knows less of the 
 servant nuisance," than the woman of the upper 
 classes, who has no need to work. But the former 
 more readily perceives that it is precisely our 
 domestics who are, in both the literal and scriptural 
 sense, our neighb,>urs. Is there even in the par- 
 sonages on earth a consciousness of the sacred 
 duties we have to fulfil to tliem ? The centurion at 
 Capernaum and his servant are preached about once 
 every year, much is perhaps publicly done for the 
 removal of " social evils," and yet many not merely 
 Christian, but simply human, duties, imposed upon 
 us by our living ^gether in one house are neg- 
 lected. The servants are often not looked upon as 
 fellow-creatures with the same thoughts and feel- 
 ings, and as having in their measure desires for the 
 same enjoyments as ourselves. You know that 
 young clergyman's wife who in our presence locked 
 up after dinner the sweets which the servant had 
 brought to the table, with the remark that such 
 people must not be spoiled, while she had no such 
 educational care fur her childrra, and you must also, 
 still remember, how conscientiously our uneducated 
 countrymen's wives took care that their servants 
 should have their share in the little pleasures o* 
 life. 
 
 I write all this to make you understand one of 
 the joys of heaven, one indeed which is not ap- 
 portioned to me, but which T Pninv i.x- K^„^<.f^u 
 
neg- 
 
 oi 
 
 ' LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. • 75: 
 
 sympathy. Vou ieiiieiii),er our countess, of whoru 
 Ihave already tokl you that I see a great deal, 
 iiven on earth, I esteeined and looked up to her as- 
 a sincere Christian: but not till I saw her in the 
 ight of heaven did I f„lly value her, because it was- 
 then J first learned what she was to her surround- 
 ings to her servants. Those words of our Saviour 
 which will one day he the standard by which human' 
 souls will be judged, are before us as well as before 
 you : " Inasniuch as ye did it to one of the least of 
 these My brethern, ye did it unto Me." And she 
 has thus done much unto the Saviour. 
 
 In her house those more refined formalities of 
 intercourse, which are ii, themselves an expression of 
 our respect for our fellow-men, were pretty strictly 
 observed. Your father and I were often at the 
 Castle, and always rejoiced at the kind and consider- 
 ate treatment which the servants experienced with- 
 out however finding any special differences, between 
 this and other households. The countess r 
 
 spoke of her servants, nor did she in the presence of 
 her guests allow them any other privileges, than 
 those usuaUy granted them, in this as in other respects 
 making as little show as possible of her practical 
 Uirisliamty. But in private she proved it above alt 
 by her behaviour to the members of her household, 
 bhe was a mother to her whole establishment, not a 
 P' ttmg and caressing mother, not one alterL --r- un> 
 seasonable anger with immoderate demonstrations of 
 kindness, but one full of faithful care and nnt.iv. 
 love. She won all hearts, and retained them with- 
 
 2» 
 
 c2. 
 
 If/ 
 
•76 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 
 -out many words and withoul t'ussine.s3. Her people 
 
 never took liberties with her, she never sutl'ered any 
 
 •idle yossip in their intercourse with their mistress, 
 
 but tliey had the mo.st ufiectionate couHdence in her, 
 
 ' they knew that ahe cared for the fate and' 
 
 conduct of each imlividiial aniouj,' them. 8lie 
 
 knew how, with inhiiite renderneys), and ^uice un- 
 
 obtru8ively,to remind people of their eternal interests, 
 
 to .wean them from faults and vices, and to train' 
 
 them m dispositi'ms. Her husband never 
 
 quite understood her, she had often to repair his 
 errors, especially when he showed his weaknesses to 
 his people, but he never put any hindrance ir. her 
 way, and sulniitted to the jxnver of her love. 
 
 How many women there are belonging to the 
 circles called aristocratic, who trifle away their lives 
 in empty idleness, or perliaps in ;ome dabbling in 
 art, the results of which yielded neithor enjoyment 
 or pn it to any one. Or the lay claim to -eing 
 thought specially religious by playing in a sy 
 manner vith works of Christian low. iboat which 
 there is much talk, mucli parade, and iiot mu-. 
 result. Our counter. uC c.uirse -dosed her hand 
 aga-?st no demand made upon her in the name of 
 Christian I Parity, buc she knew well, that its duties 
 aiv. not 1 Hlk^d ! y contributioiis and collections 
 alone. She did not ask, " Who is my neighbour ? " 
 In hcaver^ she is su ounded by a great munber of 
 ihose who served her on oirth. She now indeed 
 serves them, .^d they thank her bir it by their 
 .Ifection. Manv too. nl i hnsM wl.n /%« .^.,>.*i. 
 
 iaithfu 
 
Lf-'TERS FROM HEAVEN. , 
 
 IT 
 
 emg 
 
 fieqii.'iitcd in pieiidid uiiifoinis, and M-itli stars on 
 their breasts, the house of the countess, w here it was 
 not merely her hospitality which they sought and 
 valued, are in her circle here. They are no longer - 
 decorated with the insigi.iaof their military vocation,, 
 or the badges of wordly honour— it is just these 
 things that are quite foreign to heaven, but they 
 learned in tlieir vocation the meaning and importance 
 service. It is just tlicir calling, which the language of 
 of the world willingly designates by the word senicc. 
 Now they who served on earth, whether in livery or 
 in the unifonn of a general, gladly and peacefully^' 
 serve one another, and thereby Him, who came not 
 to bo serA but to serve. 
 
 
 c2 
 
 
XII 
 
 TT IS said that somnainbulisia liave frequently 
 X .luring their period „f somnambulism seen 
 before them at one glance all the sins and trans- 
 gressions of their past lives, and have, after awak- 
 ing, still looked back with honor at the reflected 
 image of their own souls. Ordinarily, evei. in the 
 case of those seriously striving after holiness, a veil 
 gathers, and that with salutary ettect, over whole 
 years and decades of the past, nay, conceals from 
 them the whole night side of their own inner life. 
 This veil is, however, for ever lifted from the soul 
 which no longer dwells in its earthly tabernacle' 
 1 think it must be hell enough for the unsaved to 
 be always obliged to contemplate this picture of 
 their own nature. The took, with its countless 
 amount of debts, lies open befoi c the blessed also— 
 debts which witness against us, or rather have wit- 
 nessed. They are still plainly legible, but blotted 
 out, and paid with the blood of the Lamb. And 
 our grateful joy that they are paid extinguishes our 
 grief that they ever should iiave been incurred. 4s 
 long as we live on earth we ihink that we know 
 ourselves and are aware of our weak points : but it 
 would be very salutary for men, if they could for u 
 moment behold themselves and their lives in the 
 light of eternity, or even of somnambulism. For our 
 ■chief weaknesses are found just where we thoucrht 
 
LET2ERS FROM HE A VEN. 79 
 
 •ourselves 8tron<(. We do so much harm with Just 
 ■our supposed virtues— for how many virtues there 
 are, which have but few points of contact with the 
 Scriptural idea of humanity. The consistency of 
 our principles, and our stiict adherence to our 
 maxims, are often the causes of much mischief, be- 
 cause they are at bottom nothing more than the 
 passionately obstinate assertion of our own ego. 
 
 All the sins of my past life stand before me 
 without palliation, just as they were, with all their 
 ^vil conse.|uences, and in their unfortunate con- 
 catenation with the sins of others. Thanks an.l' 
 praise be to (Jod tliat I am able to read this book 
 without pain and remorse, nay, that this contem- 
 plation contributes to my knowledge of the wis- 
 dom and mercy of God, who did not sufler many 
 •of these weeds to grow, and knew how to repair 
 much that 1 had done amiss. 1 see there a host of 
 inconsiderate or unkind words. The one saying: 
 What do I care ? stands before my soul. I made 
 this answer once, when I was young, to a beggar 
 whom I did not know, who had entered our house 
 in an importunate manner, and who, dissatisfied 
 with the alms bestowed, was still demanding more. 
 When I refused to give' him anything further, he 
 spoke of his poverty, of his destitution, of the little 
 compassion he met with from men, and threatened 
 to go and drown himself. It was then that I spoke 
 those words, and never thought again, either of the 
 man, or of what I had said to him. Nor did I ever 
 
 iearn on fisirfh thaf ir»»r «^i.i ... — ,1.. l.j 1 
 
 ~ "■ *'v '-■-'^" "viuy iiuu maae a tieep 
 
 5^ 
 
 ""2 
 
 ••7 
 
 rr 
 
8o 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 if 
 
 
 impression upon him and that he actually destroyed 
 himself. I see the host of sinful inclinations and 
 desires. I recognise the vanity which was a ruling 
 passion in my youth, and to which my more mature 
 age was not a stranger. I see not merely the vanity 
 which in youth was fond of dress, and sought to- 
 e>:cel others in finery and trities, but also that whicli 
 in after years, when I avoided tir:ery and gew-gaws, 
 showed itself in the very intention with which I did 
 so ; and then the endless multitude of sinful acts. 
 My mother had forbidden me, as a growing girl, to 
 read a book which she called dangerous to my''inn?r 
 life, and therefore locked it up. I managed to get 
 It, and read it secretly with eagerness. ^ The bo^ok 
 poisoned my mind for years ; I was, unconsciously 
 to myself, under its pernicious influence ; it made 
 my prayers cold, it excited my sensuousness 
 and led me on paths in which but for thp savinc^ 
 grace of God 1 sliould have been lost. Lastly I see 
 numbers of sins of omission. Happy as our mania-e 
 was, I refused your father in its earlier years ^nany 
 a lovmg service, or at least many a sacrifice, hec-ise 
 a foolish wisdom had taught me that a married 
 woman should not forego all rights, and should in 
 domestic life adhere to the tradition^ of her own 
 tamily. He suffered from it, but was silent from 
 affection. 
 
 It would not be painful to me, but it woidd be so 
 to you, my dear son, if I were to continue this 
 subject. You will readily understand why I have 
 told you this much, for every one has his account 
 
 V 
 
LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. g ^ 
 
 book, and it is during the period of his earthly life 
 that it gets filled. ^ 
 
 There is one doctrine of Holy Scripture which 
 such a contemplation of human sin and its conse- 
 quences helps one to understand, 1 mean the here- 
 ditary nature of sin. Human nature constitutes one 
 greac whole, and is intrinsically, connected in its 
 .several members. We see cleariy how these ^ 
 members are joined to each other by a thousand 
 ties, ami how they are in alliance with each 
 other ; how single sinful inclinations and dispositions 
 tiow onwards, so to speak, in deep channels for <.enera 
 tions , how they ramify in the members of a femilv 
 appearing here strongly, there feebly, sometimes 
 seeming quite dried up, then streaming forth a^ain 
 the more powerfully. How dependant is the imii- 
 vidua! m all his acts and thoughts upon his parents, 
 even if withdrawn from their educational influenre 
 Hovv dependent on his surroundings. He gets neither 
 what IS good and laudable in him nor his sins and 
 faults from himself. Hence they are quite in the 
 right who declare it impossible for a man to improve 
 himself. There is no such thing as improvement for 
 liim, but only renewal. 
 
 What is generally called improvement on earth 
 may bo explained by advancing years, which weaken 
 certam temptations and sinful attractions, by new 
 influences, nay, by increased selfishness, which is 
 prudent enough to avoid many sins for the sake rf 
 the earthly loss they entail. FJut he who i« n.. 
 reaowed continues Inis old self, he remains a childof 
 man who does not become a child of God. 
 
 20 
 
 C- 
 
 •mm 3 
 
 7f 
 
 I:- 
 I?/ 
 
 ^41 
 
?2 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 \ M" 
 
 IS) 
 
 i: 
 
 I 
 
 
 When you find on strict self-examination, that 
 your good dispositions, your capacities and powers 
 are an inlierited possession, nay, when you find, that 
 genius so-called is but the development, promoted, 
 and so to speak cherisiied, by favourable circums- 
 tances, of a natural capacity, which is in germ innate 
 in every man, you will perceive, that very little that 
 is his own is left to man except his faith. Faith and 
 unbelief are not inherited. Much as religious or 
 irreligious habits and views of life may be inherited 
 and important as may be the influence of education' 
 and companionship upon the inner life, still every 
 man has individually to meet the question, whether 
 he will hear and believe or not. Since, however, the 
 presence or absence of faith is imperceptible to the 
 earthly eye, it is impossible for you to perceive, 
 whether a man is saved or not. There are in the 
 woi-ld a considerable number of tolerabl} good, or at 
 least well disposed, persons, in whom not a trace of 
 faith is to be found. Their acts and opinions are not 
 indeed their own. They are inHuenced by those 
 Christian forces and currents, which circulate in 
 Christian humanity just as sin flows through it. They 
 are upheld by Christian customs, which they like lo 
 call their morality, and on earth they are perhaps 
 called unconscious Christians, while in eternity they 
 mostly recognise tiiemselves as conscious non-CInis- 
 tians. But there are alas ! very many hIso, who 
 decidedly call themselves Christians, who talk and 
 act in Christian fashion, and who are yet entirely 
 devoid of faith. 
 
 Every believing soul must grow and increase much 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. ^^ 
 
 in heaven before it is perfect. It is inclee.! extricated 
 from all connection with the sin of the human race ; 
 but all good also, which was not the fruit of tlie faith 
 produced in it by the spirit of God, falls off, indeed 
 It never was its own possession. And what small 
 progress in holiness do even earnest (jhristians make 
 en earth, what a conflict with the flesh have they to 
 maintain to their last breath ! 
 
 I will take a glance at the soul of the scholar of 
 whom 1 wrote to you that he first l)ecame a believer 
 m his old age, and siiortly I>efore his death. He was 
 employed throughout his wiiole life in historical re- 
 searches. He had laboured with unremitting, dili- 
 :4ence to give a correct picture of a past time of 
 <'elebrated men. It was to the investigation of 
 ramutiai, often of no special interest even to the 
 dwellers on earth, that lie devoted infinite pains 
 always striving to depict them as perfectly, as clearly* 
 and as impartially as possible. These labours had 
 not been favourable to his inner life. He had never 
 occupied a hostile position tov.ards Christianity nay 
 he had always retained a certain amount of ifavour 
 for the work of the kingdom of God. But he had 
 regarded it not as a fellow-worker but as a spectator 
 and hir, heart was entirely unmoved by its power' 
 He sometimes gave a contribution to Christian en^ 
 terprises, he looked upon it as a tax which the 
 •educated and benelovent must impose upon them- 
 selves for the good of the community. He some- 
 
 ~ "■ ■-"■"—•• ^-^ oiiougiit it necessary 
 
 from time to time to have !as attention turned to his 
 
 ,§* 
 
 ■•^» 
 
 r5 
 
84 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 faults, and to make eftbrts for his improvement ; he 
 regarded immortality as a thing self-evident-— and 
 tliat was all. The mercy of God having in his latter 
 days found and converted him, he is in heaven, but 
 his soul is like that'of a child. He knows nothing, 
 he possesses nothing. He died indeed a repentant 
 sinner, but it is in heaven that he has to become 
 acquainted for the first time with that long series of 
 sins, which were not forgiven till the very last. He 
 must fully and plainly see what the Saviour has 
 done for him, before he is able to appreciate the free 
 gift of salvation. * Then he will have to carry on the 
 Work of developing the Divine life, of which "only tlie 
 first beginning was eflected on earth. 
 
XIII. 
 
 npWO or three of us were lately walking under 
 A tlie lofty trees of a charming grove. Their tops 
 were gently agitated by a slight rustling wind, sucli 
 as sometimes on earth passes through the wood of an 
 evening, when the sun has gone to his rest. TJie 
 trees moderated but did not obscure tlie light, verdure 
 was beneatli our feet, growth around tis, and lovely 
 flowers, tiie children of light, everywhere. Thus may 
 It have been in Paradise when it was yet on earth. 
 Thus may the first human paii-as yet Untouched by 
 sin~have wandered forth as we did, in earnest con- 
 versation, amidst the fresh undesecrated creation of 
 God. A pious physician and naturalist was just 
 about to explain to me the marvels of Paradise, and 
 we had been joined by the Jionoured soul, released 
 alter protracted suttering, of a female friend of mine. 
 She had passed her whole earthly life in a great city. 
 She died at an advanced age where she was born. 
 She had never been acquainted with the glories of 
 nature. Her husband had been in business, and 
 chained to the city. At the period when care for 
 her children no longer prevented her from going into 
 the country, she was ill ; and thus she had passed 
 her aole life among the desolate brick houses of the 
 town. How thankfully and happily is she now 
 enjoying in heaven, what she scarcely knew even in 
 its weak imjjerfect copy on earth. Her soul now 
 took in deep (h'augjits of that forest air and fragrance, 
 
 S* 
 
 ii 
 
 kMSbJ 
 
 
i6 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 m i 
 
 i^r 
 
 which her body • had never breathed on earth. She 
 asked like a happy child about eAery flower, and 
 admired every fresh group which oflered itself to her 
 enchanted eyes. I too listoned with delight to the 
 words of my friend, who had seen deeply into the 
 mysteries of God's works, and was initiating us in 
 the comprehension of their excellence. This cannot 
 indeed be disclosed to the earthly mind, nor does 
 earthly language, which arises from the observation 
 of the senses, and can only designate the super- 
 sensuous by the help of sensuous expressions, suffice 
 to speak of it adequately. 
 
 I once heard of l;he difficulties which missionaries 
 experience, when they try to explain the contents of 
 the Gospel to heathen nations in their poor unde- 
 veloped languages, calculated as they are to express 
 only their immediate wants. I was told how they 
 were at first only able to say in the most defective 
 manner what was most necessary, and how they had 
 the feeling of not having said, what they really 
 wanted to say. It is the same with me, when I 
 speak in the language of earth and try to put the 
 glory of heaven into the poor stammering words of 
 men. 
 
 " On earth," said the physician, " I was called a 
 natural philosopher. I always avoided the folly 
 '^which many of my colleagues indulged in, of esteeni- 
 ing myself bound, as it were, to misuse the observa- 
 tion and investigation of nature for the purpose of find- 
 ing a sceptical dogmatic system confirmed by it, and 
 bestowing the name of inq^uiry upon what is nothing 
 
 
LETTERS I'ROM HEAVEN. 
 
 87 
 
 else thau a fure-one conclusion ; but I now perceive, 
 tiiat true investigation of nature and real knowledge 
 and comprehension of the wc.rks of God cannot beghi 
 till we reach Jieaven. What were our researches^ou 
 earth ? An unlearned peasant finds a delicate, com- 
 plicated, philosophical instrument. He describes it 
 after his fashion in order to find its owner ; but h& 
 neither knows nor understands it, though he may 
 perhaps give it a name or invent a use for it, which 
 may suit his purpose, but is utterly out of keeping 
 with the nature of the instrument. Just such waa 
 our position with respect to the works of God. We 
 observed, we compared, we gave names, we were able 
 also to make tilings more or less serviceable to our 
 purposes, and then we were so ready to believe that 
 we had comprehended their nature. The inner 
 nature of things, especially the manner of their life 
 and growth, was a mystery to us ; we were so glad to 
 take the description for the comprehension of a pro- 
 cess. We w le like the librarian who is up to the 
 mark ot managing a large library, but is master of 
 only the very smallest portion of the contents of the 
 books. He knows where each book is to be found ; 
 he knows directly in which main division or sub-* 
 division any new one is to be inserted, but as for its 
 contents, it is only quite superficially or by report 
 that he has any acquaintance with them. 
 
 'Tou have certainly," he continued, '* often l>e^ 
 delighted with a rose on earth. Vou imve thought* 
 fully regarded its manellous structure, and refreshed 
 
 
 "••'a 
 .■,■"? 
 
 let "r 
 
 
 .yourself with its fmivrance. Peihaos 
 
 Vfii! f.|illftfl i}-«i 
 
S8 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 
 % 
 
 
 ■beauty wonderful. Uut you thus only pointed out 
 the mystery that met you in this creation of God " 
 So saying he plucked a beautiful red rose, which was 
 blooming in our path, and explained to us the mean- 
 ing of its form, colour, and fragrance. And we 
 understood it, and rejoiced with happy gladness, for 
 knowledge is happiness. Afi \ if you could under- 
 stand how the colour speaks, gently but so eloquently, 
 how the harmony of the colours in which God has 
 clothed His creation is m full-toned song of praise ! 
 The colour is the response of the creature to the 
 gi-eeting of the light seni it by the Creator. For in 
 the light, whicli unites in itself all colours, He sends 
 to the creature the greeting of love and the breatli of 
 life, and the creature breathes back life and love in 
 full-voiced, harmonious accord. Therefore rejoice on 
 earth also, in tlie splendour of colour exliibited in the 
 creation of your God. For in such rejoicing you are 
 uniting in the silent yet eloquent thunks-giving 
 offered by creation to the Creator. 
 
 Whik» we were still talking, a slender roe crosf^ed 
 our path. It stood still, and looked at us with its 
 ^knowing eyes, without fleeing from us. Many 
 animals, which are found on earth, are not met with 
 in heaven ; at all events here, where they manifest 
 in their purity and uninfluenced by aught earthly, the 
 creative thoughts of God, who made them also for 
 the pleasure and service of animated beings, just as 
 He called gi-asses and flowers into existence, they 
 frequently have other forms and natures. 
 
 " See," continued the physician, pointing to the 
 merry an.i joyful HniruHls, which were hastening 
 
LETTEBS FROM HE A VEN, 
 
 89 
 
 tlirough the trees in front of ils, •' is it not like a 
 movin- *ower, a new and special ornament of the 
 forest ? does it not with its compeers and the birds 
 whichh over above us, give new beauty and life to the 
 glory of creation ?" Alas that on earth the creature 
 is still groaning together with mankind, alas that it 
 is still under the curse of sin ! He reminded us how 
 on eartli the animal world flees with alarm from 
 man, in whom it recognises rather its foe than its 
 lord. How terribly does the beast of prey copy in 
 its cruelty the sin of man, liow does the domestic 
 animal, often alienated from its original destination, 
 ■bear in sile>it slavery the yoke imposed on it by man, 
 how all, either pursued by their fellows, or by the 
 knife or bullet of man; or under the pressure of un- 
 fovourable ph ysical circumstances, end their lives in 
 throes of pain as being associated with the poor earth, 
 which is under tlie sway of death 1 
 
 " How is it possible," said my friend, " that men 
 •can have come to such a pass as to place their fellows 
 •on a level with the brutes, or even to think that they 
 originated from them ?" 
 
 " Who," replied the physician, "can, even in 
 heaven, explain or understand human sin and folly ? 
 But strangest of all is it, that what was known to 
 men since the first time they killed one of the more 
 highly organized animals, should now be called a 
 o-esult of scientific research. I mean the similarity 
 in both external and internal structure between the 
 bodies of man and of the brute, — a similarity which 
 
 eould not but exist, seeing tnat both are destined to 
 
 Si 
 ? 
 
 (to. ^ 
 
 
 :i 
 
go 
 
 LETTERS EROM HEAVEN, 
 
 
 C(irporeally, and' tFfe brute in his whole nature, are- 
 bound to the planet by their need of sustenance. 
 But men, who once sought to buihl a tower that 
 should reach to hea\'en, and scofted at God, have- 
 now also come to the pass of scoflSng in terrible 
 cont'jmpt at themselves, and of debasing themselves 
 to the level of brutes. What then if," added he 
 seriously, "tiiat likeness to the brute, which is un- 
 doubtedly the property of the soul, which is enslaved 
 by sin and blinded by unbelief should be completed in 
 hell, where all sin is continued and must be con- 
 tinued; although it is perceived to be foil}' and 
 delusion, if the ptbr soul its, glance turned down- 
 wards to all eternity, should suffer from boundless 
 and unappeased desire, tortured by the sleepless con- 
 sciousness of its misery ? " 
 
 'Yes," said I, "it is incompreh* risible that occu- 
 pation with nature, which even on earth and under 
 the veil of perishableness, which it there wears, is 
 still beautiful, and an eloquent witness to the being 
 and character ot God, should not lead to God and to 
 the knowledge of Him." 
 
 "Did nature,', asked the physician, "show you 
 the way to heaven and kindle in you the light of 
 faith, or did you not on the contrary first find God in 
 her, when you contemplated her with a believing 
 heart ? Nature is a revelation of God, and a very 
 glorious one, but only to those who know how to 
 read it." 
 
 Neither the investigation of nature, nor the mere- 
 enthusiasm for Ler, which only rt ads in her its own. 
 
LETTERS I ROM HEAl^EA, 
 
 9t 
 
 tlioiijrhts and teelings, or to which she remains alto- 
 gether a book with seven seals, has ever lead any tu 
 (Jod, to Him in whose house we are, and by whose 
 grace we are what we are. It 1.9 not distance, nor 
 the gravitation of the earth, but sin that sepaigttes 
 man from God. Why should 1 say this to you who 
 are saved ? It wa* not the sighing of the evening 
 wind in the trees, nor >ong of bir^s, nor the 
 
 trickling of the mountain oueam that saved ym, but 
 the blood of Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God. Vou 
 know the other and higher revel tion which testifier 
 of Him. 
 
 Then my friend said : " Many of your words have 
 fallen heavily upon my heart. I have a brother, who- 
 is reckoned among scientitic investigators, and his 
 name is famous among the dwellers on earth. He 
 has often said to me, ' Mature is God, and serving 
 God means investigating her.' " 
 
 In the ^veakness of my earthly understanding, 
 widely as I difteied from him in opinion, I always 
 regarded such words as a proof of piety, and hoped 
 for him to the end. Oh that one of the angels 
 would go to him and place the book with the cross, 
 and with the story of the Cross between his books, 
 and instruments, that he too might find the living 
 and merciful God ! 
 
 "The angels do this," said the physician, "they 
 take care that the Cross is known to every eye, and 
 that the story of the Cross reaches every ear. And 
 if he will not believe, he would also close his «ve and 
 
 
 
 £sr to au angel s ine^sage." 
 
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 pur" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 \T7HEX you behold on earth a home, in which 
 V V the ways and doings of the children arc 
 watched over by the faithful guardianship of parental 
 love, where evil is warded off from them, where 
 •efforts are made to repair the consequences of their 
 folly, and everything is done that can conduce to 
 their welfare, you have before your eyes a picture of 
 the superintendeace of Divine Providence. Thou^rh 
 sm rules m the human race, and (xod to a certain 
 ilegree permits this, still all your actions and 
 omissions, all your dealings and their results are in 
 His Almighty hand, and His angels are everywhere 
 fulfilling their office, as His messengers, for the good 
 of mankind. And when you encounter the great 
 enigmas of the Divine government of the world, or 
 <loubts concerning His onunpotence and the uni- 
 versality of His loving purposes beset you, remember 
 that you are far more insignificant and deficient in 
 understanding, with respect to the Almighty, than 
 your cliild is compared with yourself. His ways 
 are wonderful, but they are also holy and good. And 
 nothing wears so different an aspect, when looked at 
 from heaven, as human prosperity and adversity. 
 Tiie life of man and the leading of Providence are 
 like an artistic piece of tapestry, whose right side is 
 turned towards heaven. Hence we speak here in 
 
 Sljr'h art tinfi>.nl»» /l,"44Vx- — <- ; i . i . 
 
 -j^.. .-., . ,ivttT.ij vtiuciciib uiiiiiner arjouc wnac you 
 call misfortune and dark dispiuisations on earth. 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 95 
 
 " I liave just come," said an angel to us, " from 
 earth. A large railway bridge in America broke 
 down at the moment the train was passing over it. 
 All the passengers were swallowed up in the stream." 
 Ko cry of horror, no expression of anxiety inter- 
 rupted the speaker, but we listened willingly for the 
 sake of obtaining fresh insight into the wonderful 
 wavs of the Divine wisdom, which wins its greatest 
 triumphs in just those cases where men are most 
 inclined to doubt it. " A great judgment of God," 
 he continued, " has been accomplished — the criminal 
 indifference of those who risked the lives of their 
 fellow-men, although they had long known that the 
 bridge was insecure, is punished — they have brought 
 this judgment upon themselves. The bridge has for 
 a long time been unfit for traffic, but we, God's 
 angels, kept our hands upon it till God's hour had 
 come. And when it came, we were all sent forth to 
 keep back all who were not yet ripe for death ; not 
 }et ripe for heaven or hell, from going by that train. 
 The Lord granted a gracious respite to many a one 
 who was walking in the broad road ; we had to place 
 some hindrance in liis way. (Jthers, for whom God 
 had still some use on earth, we warned in dreams. 
 All who got into that train, which was to carry them 
 to eternity, were numbered. All the tears of the 
 survivors were considered. The field was tilled in 
 which was to be sown that seed of misfortune, from 
 which a harvest of joy was to grow. The (Jood 
 Shepherd sought once more all the unbelieving souls, 
 liie call of (iod : '' Come, for all. things are ready,'^ 
 
 * 7. 
 
 
 
 
94 
 
 LET7ERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 ■,it 
 
 jC 
 
 went forth oiice more to their hearts. They received 
 also, on the very night that they left their homes, to 
 hasten to the station througli the silent darkness, 
 a last greeting from God : some in the farewell of a 
 pious wife, some from the innocent mouths of 
 oliildren, some from the silent sermon of the heaven- 
 soaring church steeple in the moonlight. The train 
 rushed uut in the night and was soon upon the 
 bridge. Then came an awful crash, and the long 
 row of carriages rushed in one mighty curve into the 
 foaming stream. It was but for a brief moment 
 that the moon shone upon the scene of destruction. 
 The tides bury speedily, very soon all was silent, 
 and only the waves were 
 
 4irge. 
 
 nnirmuring the death 
 
 Those whose bodies are buried in the stream 
 will not all come here, but there is not one among 
 them whose pilgrimage was not completed. We 
 know every one. But a salutaiy fear of Goa will 
 seize men who are living in security r bear many 
 ^ blessing even to distant circles. ' . fresh con- 
 hrmation of the saying, that m the midst of life we 
 <are in death, will be beneficial to many a careless 
 soul. 
 
 A troop of souls now approaclied. They belonged 
 to those who had so suddenly and violently departed 
 from the tabernacle of the body. They had already 
 entered Paradise, hence the expression of terror and 
 of the death struggle had already vanished from 
 their features. Angels were accompanying them and 
 showing them the- glories of Paradise, and they 
 oined in our praises of the wisdom and mercy ot' 
 
received 
 loiues, to 
 Jarkness, 
 veil of a 
 3uths of 
 heaven- 
 he train 
 ipoa the 
 the long 
 into the 
 moment 
 truction. 
 s silent, 
 e deatli 
 
 stream 
 among 
 i. We 
 oa will 
 r many 
 sh con- 
 iife we 
 careless 
 
 elonged 
 eparted 
 already 
 ror and 
 1 from 
 Bmand 
 
 jrcy of 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 95 
 
 •our God and Saviour. Oli what numbers there 
 were ! And yet I only saw the saved, for the others 
 turned away as soon as they reached the gate of 
 Paradise, 
 
 There is an old man— the evening prayer in which 
 he commended his soul to the God of mercy was 
 still liovering on his lips when he leant back in his 
 seat and gently fell asleep. He experienced the 
 accident while sleeping, he scarcely woke once more 
 on earth before his soul had peacefully gone home. 
 Many beloved children and friends are welcoming 
 Him ; with them he is praising the Lord for having 
 suffered him hardly to taste of death, and to enter 
 into eternal peace without a struggle. He is so 
 quickly at home here, he had often gazed at the 
 throne from a distance, and sent his weary heart 
 there before him. He asked his friends nothing, he 
 only worshipped. 
 
 Here is a young tradesman— he has borne many 
 cares, although he led a solitary life. For a lon^* 
 time he was without a situation. He sought long 
 and wearily to earn his living, but with" all his 
 honesty and ability he was devoid of a certain smart- 
 ness and quickness of manner. He had been wander- 
 ing about the town to no purpose for some time, 
 when an inward voice said to him : " Set out to- 
 night, and you will attain your object—and he has 
 attained his object. 
 
 I see a whole family, father, mother and children. 
 They left the town to go into the country for the 
 «ake of the father's and the youngest child's health. 
 
 "1r 
 
 
 ::3 
 
 ■•0 
 
 
96 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 
 I!! i 
 
 
 *' Let us travel by night," said the mother, " it will 
 be cooler ; and then we shall be settled by Sunday 
 and able to enjoy it." 
 
 " Oh how delightful the thought of a quite Sab- 
 bath is in the retiren)ent of the country ?" replied 
 the father. The mother was still holding in her 
 arms the youngest child, wliom she had grasped in 
 the agonies of death. And the little bne did not 
 know that it was dead , it laid hold of its sister's 
 hand and said : 
 
 "Oh what a beautiful place, let us stay here always 
 Oh I feel so well,, and have no pains 1" 
 
 There is a young man appointed to missionary ser- 
 vice, and who was about to start for his station : a 
 mature soul, deeply rooted in the love of Christ. 
 There is work in heaven for such/souls, happy work, 
 without weariness or sighs. Many now draw nigh, 
 and there is none whose countenance is not radiant 
 with joy, none whose tears of sorrow are not wiped 
 away. They no longer talk in earthly language of 
 the calamity that has befallen them, but of their 
 happy home-coming ; and all horror of those earthly 
 forces of nature, which are so boldly invoked and . 
 never entirely under control, is taken from their 
 minds. 
 
 The angel now gathered them all arouud him, and 
 explained the ways of God to them by telling them 
 of those whom they had left behind on earth, and 
 of their fate. They answered with neither grief nor 
 murmurs, they looked up at him with earnest intelli- 
 gence, and no anxious questioning interrupted the 
 words of the angel. " Yes, many tears will be shed 
 
"it will 
 Sunday 
 
 ite Sab- 
 replied 
 in her 
 
 asped ill 
 did not 
 
 i sister's 
 
 J always 
 
 ary ser- 
 ition : a 
 ' Christ. 
 y work, 
 w nigh, 
 radiant 
 ; wiped 
 :uage of 
 of their 
 earthly 
 ced and . 
 a their 
 
 in, and 
 • them 
 th, and 
 lief nor 
 intelli- 
 ed the 
 )e shed 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 9- 
 
 for you on earth," he said, '* many a sad and sleep- 
 less night passed, and many a sigh sent upwards. 
 But are they not salutary ? Do your dear ones look 
 upon the saying, ' Whom the Lord loveth He 
 chasteneth,' as mere empty words? Men do so 
 struggle against the wholesome bitter medicine, but 
 IS it to be therefore withheld ? Your seven sons/' 
 said he, turning to a railway labourer, who had 
 accompanied the train, " will weep with their 
 I mother. They are still sleeping. Listen how one 
 in his half waking slumber is praying for his father. 
 lUit with the message of sorrow will come to them 
 also a message of blessing. Charitable hands will 
 be widely opened to them. Truly the compassion 
 of men is wont to be aroused by striking cases ; it so 
 readily slumbers in presence of every-day misery, 
 T 'raise the ways of God, who purposes to awaken 
 mercy from its slumbers in your town, where there 
 is so much need and poverty, and so few hands 
 ready to help. It will grow and increase and look 
 upon the distress of others besides yours. But pray 
 for your children that they may not too soon forget 
 you. For prosperity according to human estimation 
 will arise for them from this calamity. And it is 
 not misfortune but prosperity that may easily be- 
 come a danger to their souls." 
 
 " Your intended." said he, turning to a young 
 girl, " will be led to reflect and repent. The shock 
 will become an awakening. But for it he would 
 have been yours only for your earthly life ; you 
 know you would not have been really happy with 
 
 !"«2 
 
 ■•.II 
 
 '• 1 
 
 11" •> 
 
 ■■■■■ la 
 
 :^ 
 
 I.; ;.;♦■ 
 
 Ill, 's 
 
 11^'?/ 
 
^8 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 hi.m. But now the Saviour will find his soul, and 
 in a little while you will have him again. He 
 therefore departed from you for a season that you 
 should receive him for ever." 
 
 Thus did tlie angel address them. At, the same 
 time that mourning an«I lamentation were begin- 
 ning on earth, songs of ])raise were resounding in 
 heaven. 
 
 But, perhaps, while reading this you are think- 
 ing of those who are not called from earth till 
 after much severe suffering. In your ofKce you have 
 indeed occasion enough to hear of such calamity. 
 Even as a clergyman you often stand silent, like 
 Job's friends, in the presence of misery. But you 
 must also have remarked, that it is not those who 
 have suffiered tlie longest and the most severely who 
 complain the most loudly ; and that the most patient 
 are alway those, in whose lives a self-incurred reason 
 for their suffering can least be shown. What you on 
 earth can venture to utter only in the rarest cases, 
 because you cannot see into the heart, we in heaven 
 can clearly perceive in many instances, viz. that suf- 
 fering is a punishment. And conscience tells this too 
 to the sufferers themselves. Certainly we hold fast 
 our Saviour's words which He spoke to His disciples 
 in the presence of the man born blind ; but at the 
 same time we do not forget the saying about visiting 
 the sins of the fathers upon the third and fourth 
 generation. And when this takes place in the third, 
 the second and the fourtli must fear the power of sin 
 and the righteousness of (lod. Nay, the complaints 
 
 'i ti oitzi^icx £ru«wi.iixiij' aim ntirncrjLij prciiutl Ul UOlfl 
 
 to all whose ears they reach. 
 
XV. 
 
 T AM about to bring before your niiiui one of tlie 
 J- loveliest of pictures, by introducing yoa to the 
 children's Paradise. Our happy children are indeed 
 with us, and we with them ; but they have also their 
 own abodes and pleasure places, where, following 
 their impulse for cheerful companionship, they can 
 meet together. 
 
 A dear Christian man who is now in heaven once 
 told on earth a story of a sick child, who was in a 
 ship with her mother. There were numbers of falling' 
 stars, and the little girl asked what they were, and 
 where they came from. Then her mother explained 
 them to be lovely flowers blown over from the garden 
 •of Paradise, to which she would shortly go. 
 
 On the other hand the souls of children who come 
 /home are like blossoms of the tree of human nature 
 blown over from the earth to us, not to wither but to 
 go on blooming gaily and gladly. You know tlie 
 storms by which they are snapped off on earth, ^t^a 
 know what insidious devastating sicknesses make 
 them fall in crowds. But, believe me, the storms are 
 not the cause, but the occasion. The juices of the 
 tree are diseased. The curse of sin rests upon it. For 
 human sin and human weakness and disease are in 
 mysterious and dreadful union. You inquire with 
 horror as to the cause of those children's diseases, 
 
 w 
 
 hich 
 
 npnr nnw haro iinnr fUavr^ 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 r if 
 
 IS 
 
 annpnr 
 
 "i 
 
 
V 
 
 100 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 
 snatch away their victims. Whatever names pliysi- 
 cians may give them, and whatever causes they may 
 discover for their origin, they are abscesses on the 
 body of human nature, and witnesses to the corrup- 
 tion of its vital sap ; and tlie tenderest branches of 
 the tree are the first to suffer from them. The causes 
 of childien's deatlis are not, liowever, always so 
 obscure, tlieir connection with sin is often as clear as 
 day. Some, impelled by avarice, crowd together in 
 masses in great cities, wliere they can with difficulty, 
 or not at all, find nourishment for their children, and 
 where there is an absence of all the conditions 
 required for the de^^elopment of so tender a creature 
 Others, on whom these are abundantly bestowed, in 
 their ungodly indolence treat their little ones in the 
 most unnatural and irrational manner. They, who 
 easily and eagerly learn to take care of a young tree 
 which is one day to yield them profit, never care to 
 learn how that tender plant, a child, is to be treated. 
 Besides, what is often the case as to the fulfilment 
 of a mother's duties on earth ? A child is connected 
 with its mother by a thousand invisible ties, even 
 after it is born. How many mothers violently rend 
 asunder these ties and regard the child as a plaything 
 to be seized when the fancy for playing with it takes 
 them ? In all other respects the child is indeed well 
 taken care of. Many a mother has been summoned 
 from some scene of pleasure to the death-bed of her 
 child ; many a child's soul, whose body has perhaps 
 remained healthy, has been isolated and stunted in 
 the charge of a hireling. Oh unfathomable mercy of 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 i6i 
 
 our (iod, whicli collects these lost and fallen blos- 
 som*! Oh infinite love, which lets none of these little 
 ones perish ; Oh sacred fatherly affection, which far 
 surpassing that of earthly fathers cares for the least 
 and most despised \ 
 
 See this broad pleasant garden of endless extent. 
 See what millions of children are here gathered in 
 the glad enjoyment of their existence, none suffering, 
 none cast contemptuously aside, none peevish, or 
 unsubmissive, but all joyous and happy. Is not tlie 
 sight of joyous children one immeasurably pleasing 
 even on earth ? Does not a thoughtful mind con- 
 template with purest joy the life and movement of 
 children ? This pleasure, but without fimitation or 
 alloy, is granted to the blessed also. And those who 
 on earth loved to minister to children, tliose friends 
 of the Saviour, are permitted to do so in heaven. 
 
 You see here representatives of every age. The 
 little ones and those elder children wlio are already 
 near the circle of the grown up, and whose employ- 
 ments resemble theirs, are gathered liere. What a 
 pleasant sight is here offered by the souls of those 
 children, who were no sooner born into earthly life 
 than they were immedi - , !y removed from it. Those 
 whose soul-life was stili sleeping in the germ are 
 like lovely and delicate flowers. But a light is 
 shining in the calyx of these flowers, the light of 
 Baptism, which gives them rights of citizenship in 
 heaven. Whether all these little and elder ones are, 
 when once they shall have put on the resurrection 
 body, to grow up to the measure of the perfect age 
 
 
 iS 
 
 5 
 
102 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 
 of Christ, I know not. But neither do I desire to- 
 know, for each of the children leads after its own 
 fashion a satisfied and happy life, and is lovely and 
 perfect in itself at the stage of development at which 
 God took it to heaven. 
 
 ' What Martin Luther once wrote to his little sou 
 of the heavenly j^arden, is what you here see, only 
 that it is much more beautiful and ^.^lorious. See- 
 how happily they run about among each other, now 
 hastening to their parents, now joining each other in 
 joyous companies. See how innocently and gently 
 their happy gaiety is carried on without either weak- 
 ness or un#uliness, how all their ways and doings 
 combine, notwithstanding their contrasts and variety, 
 in a beautiful harmony, which becomes a song of 
 praise to the goodness abd mercy of God, who has 
 given them existence. On earth the child who 
 plays, grows up by imitation in the ways and 
 doings, and also in the follies, of his surroundings^ 
 In heaven he breathes only a heavenly life. And 
 yet these children have brought with them their 
 ideals so far as their minds had conceived tbem. 
 They delight in their toys and take pleasure in the 
 things they liked on earth. They are always making 
 themselves new pleasures in the greatest variety, and 
 always affording new joy to the spectators. 
 
 Look at this child, it is the child of a poor maij. 
 It was very little cared for during the four years it 
 lived on earth. It became acquainted with the 
 hardships of life. The angels have just brought it 
 to heaven. How astonished it looks at all the 
 
LETTERS EROM HEAVEiV. 
 
 103 
 
 »>eiiuty around it, uiid stivtches out its little hands 
 to the companions from whom no timiditv^ keeps it 
 back : And that other is the ciiild o? , prince. 
 Many persons were engaged in its service and in 
 taking care of it, but its soul never awakened to tlie 
 Joyous unfolding of its nature till it r«,iched heaven, 
 ft had as yet haci no toys when it came to heaven 
 for the many things with which it was surrounded 
 on earth, and witli which tliey wanted to teach it tcv 
 (.ccupy itself, were but cold and dead to it. It had 
 much to play with, but was not allowed to play in 
 its own fashion and according to its own inclinations. 
 That child was a poor sick boy, who lived in a cellar 
 in a narrow court. He was always confined to bed. 
 At his best he could oidy go a few times up and 
 down his little room on crutches. A neighbours 
 boy one day brought him a wild flower, which he 
 planted in a flower-pot and placed on the window- 
 sill r ar his bed. It bore tlowers every year, it was 
 his .lower-garden, hi^ little treasure on earth. It 
 was grown all over with his dreum•^, he turned 
 towards it in death, v.hen the Lord called him. Here 
 he still has his flower and delights m its heavenly 
 beauty. 
 
 And that one is my child! 'My eyes always seek it, 
 and then rest upon it with maternal joy. As on 
 earth his happiness is mine also, for they are not 
 merely ties of blood that bind a mother to her child. 
 He is a copy of my iiature, and much more plainly 
 than on earth do I see in him a picture of my own 
 bpinfT and ■nprneivf at thp saTUP Hmp flip imnroca nf 
 
 ~ ~' i: ~ - 
 
 his father's and of our parents' qualities. Xot mere- 
 
 iilK 
 II ■« 
 
 ;;!' 
 
 \ 
 
 iS 
 
 ::i^ 
 
 .2 
 
 / 
 
 \ 
 
m 
 
 104 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 
 p*«* 
 
 ly was his body born from my body, but his soul- 
 life also is in wonderful and mysterious combination 
 witli mine. He is not my creature, but he is a gift 
 bestowed upon me through myself, by means of God's 
 marvellous creative power. And what God has 
 joined together continues joined in heaven also. 
 Was he not therefore taken from me that I, who had 
 indeed on earth renewed my maternal happiness by 
 my delight, as an elderly woman, in my grandchildren, 
 but yet could only taste it again as it were at a dis- 
 tance, might ill heaven renew the happiness of my 
 young life ? 
 
 And even on those who are taken from earth 
 childless, a happiness beams here, whichthey have 
 hitherto been deprived of. , Thousands of baptized 
 children do not find their paretits in heaven and 
 would wait for them in vain. What a pleasant sight 
 it is when maiden souls, whether they departed in 
 youthful or mature age, open here in heaven to ma- 
 ternal happiness and join themselves with some 
 solitary child-soul, which most resembles their own 
 nature. Still more pleasant is it when such a soul, 
 already matured in the love of Christ on earth, draws 
 round '>. whole circles ^of little children and serves 
 them with ministering love. How beautiful is it 
 when the solitary man, who has as yet been deprived 
 of the fellowship of love and of association with 
 believing friends, and who is just beginning the life 
 of heaven, acquires maturity and strength by love to 
 children, and learns in their service to understand 
 and value the fellowship of love \ 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 105 
 
 There is a great stir yonder among the host of 
 children. It is as though as new sun had risen, to- 
 wards which all were turning. The games cease, the 
 active motion stops. The great Friend of childrenis 
 visiting His darlings. He knows each and calls each 
 by name, and each one knows Him ; those, too, who 
 had not yet uttered His name on earth, but were 
 baptized into it, know Him and rejoice in Him. 
 They hasten to Him, they kiss His hand, the reflec- 
 tion of His love is mirrored on their faces. The eyes 
 •of even the very little ones sparkle. When I once 
 took you in my arms on C istmas Eve, when you 
 were a baby, to show you the lighted Christmas-tree, 
 your eyes sparkled and your whole countenance was 
 lighted up. ^So do the eyes of the little ones shine 
 in heaven in the light of the Saviour's love. 
 
 
 ■.3- 
 
 3 
 
M 
 
 XVI. 
 
 IT is from the mouth of the apostle, wlio cer- 
 tainly knew more of the sorrows of life than 
 his fellows, and whose later letters breathe forth the 
 longing, elevated indeed by Christian feeling, yet 
 still plainly preceptible, to depart from this vale of 
 sorrows, that the exhortation comes : " Ivejoice in the 
 Lord always ! " And in opposition to this stands 
 the saying of one of your greatest poets, a man 
 wonderfully gifted and distinguished by God, one 
 acquainted beyond others with human nature. 
 Happy ? Who then is happy '^ We know who are 
 happy, the blessed are, but certainly even during the 
 earthly pilgrimage true joy is no unattainable 
 possession. 
 
 Joy is the key-note to which *he soul is tuned. 
 She manifests herself only where she may rejoice, 
 and with us this key-note is continually resounding. 
 As soon as one can feel oneself purely a creature of 
 the gracious God, and those alien and disturbing in- 
 fluences which interfere with this fundamental feel- 
 ing of the soul are removed, this joy-note sounds out 
 pure and full. If sin had not entered into the 
 world, man would still be dwelling full of peace and 
 joy in the earthly I'aradise, and earth would resem- 
 ble heavem. But sin, with its companions, fear. 
 
 
 tlw 
 
 I'"' ' 
 
 earth of his joy and peace, and he has to wait until 
 
LEI RS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 107- 
 
 ho cer- 
 fe than 
 )rth the 
 ng, yet 
 
 vale of 
 e in the 
 1 stands 
 
 a man 
 Jod, one 
 
 nature, 
 who are 
 ring the 
 tainable 
 
 i tuned. 
 
 rejoice, 
 funding, 
 ature of 
 3ing in- 
 :al feel- 
 mds out 
 nto the 
 ace and 
 
 reseni- 
 as, fear, 
 
 ifQl-lf of 
 
 it until 
 
 a liappy death takes iiini to heaven, to be able to 
 live his proper existence. 
 
 If the eartli w»'re still under the curse of sin, a 
 curse whose unrevoked influence reached into 
 eternity, I do nol know how joy on earth could be 
 ■even spoken of There would tlien be joy in heaven 
 for only the angels, and no child of Adam could hope 
 vo share it. As it is, redemption from sin stands- 
 side by side with sin. But how the dwellers on 
 earth should be able to rejoicti, without having be- 
 come by faith partakers of that redemption, I do 
 not understand. You will see, that I by no means 
 intend that wretched pursuit of enjoyment, which 
 when it is attained for the most part proves itself to 
 be the opposite, and either produces too speedy 
 satiety or begets fresh thirst. There needs but little' 
 experience to recognise the misery and futility of this 
 practice, and to see how these restless strivers after 
 the pleasurers of life attain at most in the rush and 
 roar a cloudy and disfigured image of the ideal they 
 ])ursue. All pure and lasting joy is unattainable by 
 men devoid of faith. A frivolous mind does indeed 
 , devote itself to the enjoyment of the cheerful and 
 untroubled present, but even in the fact, that it must 
 force itself not to think of the future, a constraint 
 of which it is always conscious, lies the hindrance to 
 its joy. Such an one is like a homeless wanderer^ 
 who at evening gets unperceived into a well-fur- 
 nished, uninhabited house, and makes himself com- 
 fortable in the handsome rooms, but can scarcelv 
 forget that he will be turned out next morning. 
 
 m 
 
 
 3 
 
io8 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 ' I 
 
 P 
 
 fk »^: 
 
 Uualloyed aiid genuine joy is only possible when 
 life can be regarded as a wliole and as eternal. 
 Limited happiness finds its boundaiy in the limit- 
 ation. But ouglit not you, who are redeemed by 
 Jesus Christ and have a title to, and promise of, 
 •eternal life, to be able also to be truly and bound- 
 lessly happy ? 
 
 When I look back on my past life, I cannot but 
 «ay that I enjoyed much happiness on earth. I 
 experienced no special awakening, at least I am 
 unable to state any period, at which I can trace an 
 actual and general transformation of my inner life. 
 I was indeed regenerated in baptism, and I never 
 forgot, as my pastor so impressed upon me at my 
 confirmation, that I was a baptized (Christian. My 
 Christian knowledge came indeed slowly to ma- 
 turity. It was only quite gradually that I com- 
 prehended and laid hold upon Christ as the 
 Redeemer. The spirit was always willing, the 
 flesh always weak. I remember many times of 
 sin, but also many times of repentance. I never 
 ventured to call myself an earnest ( hristian, I only 
 strove that (jod might make me such. I enjoyed, 
 however, many hours of inward peace and happi- 
 ness, though they were but hours, to which were 
 •opposed days and weeks during which my heart 
 was devoid of rest and peace. And here, where my 
 whole past life lies like an open book before me, 
 I see that my happiness increased with advancing 
 ■age. This was the will and work of (rod, rood's 
 •days have beautiful sunsets, and joy and happiness 
 
LETTERS IROM HE AVE A'. 
 
 109- 
 
 lie when 
 eternal, 
 le liiiiit- 
 3med by 
 mise of, 
 bouud- 
 
 mot but 
 iarth. I 
 3t I am 
 trace an 
 ner life, 
 I never 
 i at my 
 m. My 
 to ma- 
 I com- 
 as the 
 ng, the 
 imes of 
 I never 
 I, I only 
 enjoyed, 
 I happi- 
 3h were 
 y heart 
 lere my 
 'ore me, 
 vancing 
 
 ippiuess 
 
 must grow and increase. They need the sun of 
 sorrow to ripen them, nay, they are born of sorrow. 
 They who hinder the work of God keep the sorrow, 
 but its germ of joy is broken off and destroyed. 
 Your poet says in his own fashion ; " One does not 
 see happiness bom and grow, it comes down freely 
 from the Gods." This is very true, only it is not in 
 heaven as a finished gift to be arbitrarily bestowed. 
 It lies in the womb of sorrow. Quietly wait till its 
 time comes and do not kill its glad birth. 
 
 Perhaps while I thus speak you are remembering 
 my life as it appeared to your eyes, and thinking 
 that I had a life happy beyond that of many others 
 and especially blessed at its closo ; you point to my 
 happy days anndst a circle of loving children and 
 grandchildren, to my old age free from anxiety, and 
 to my cheerful temperament. But let me tell you 
 
 that old S , of whom I lately wrote, saw all his 
 
 children die when they were grown up, and who was 
 spared scarcely any trial, fully shares my experience. 
 He was never indeed quite clear about it on earth. A 
 certain melancholy overshadowed his soul in his last 
 years. The solitary man, after burying his last son, 
 never smiled again : and yet lie says " my soul was 
 wonderfully quiet in the evening of my life. It rested 
 in God. I was like a warrior who after his many 
 battles is enjoying the rest of old age, his body 
 covered with scars,but happy and contented, too weak 
 to fight, but also spared from figliting. Xo night fol- 
 lowed the fair late evening of my life, which was suc- 
 ceeded by a bright morning." 
 
 
 
 
3 lO 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 What I tell you is the substance of a conversation 
 earned on in a large circle of the blessed. Let nie 
 «,dve you some other experiences. 
 
 " For a long season," said a former master of a high 
 school, " I disdained Christianity and the Gospel. I 
 had artificially compounded a heathen theology whicli 
 must, I imagined, bring me satisfaction. Let us, I 
 taught, take a cheerful view of life as long as it is 
 granted us. Let us do our duty and put ourselves as 
 little out of the way as possible for suffering, and 
 when we nnist one day give up our lives, let us do it 
 with the conciousness : ' I have lived, and I have not 
 lived in vain.' Such was my teaching, and I was 
 withal very unhappy and uneasy. I was earnest 
 enough to know that my fulfilment of duty was very 
 defective. I was not so easily capable of not caring 
 for suffering as I required others to be. I sought after 
 the drops of comfort, which were to run down the 
 bucket of misfortune, but did not find them. Nor 
 had I in more mature age a single moment, in which 
 I should have been ready to wind up my life and 
 say, 'I have lived.' And wlien I ventured to think 
 it, an inward voice said to me, ' You must first really 
 live! ' Thus I had a long life full of sorrow, but un- 
 profitable sorrow, behind me, till (}od once came in 
 mercy and made me to sorrow, nay, added the most 
 severe, but also tlie most blessed, sorrow, that of 
 repentance, so that my now believing soul could keep 
 the birthday of its liappiness.". 
 
 " To me," said another, who !iad been on earth 
 inaster of a National school, " was decreed a hard life 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 Ill 
 
 versatioii 
 Let nie 
 
 of a hi;;h 
 ospel. I 
 igy whicli 
 Let us, I 
 
 as it is 
 'Selves as 
 ring, and 
 
 us do it 
 have not 
 id I was 
 earnest 
 vas very 
 3t oarinf>' 
 ght after 
 own the 
 m. Xor 
 in which 
 
 life and 
 to think 
 st really 
 
 but un- 
 came in 
 )he most 
 
 that of 
 aid keep 
 
 >n eartli 
 
 full of care and trouble. Much was said of me, and 
 of the hard lot imposed upon me. I belonged to 
 that small number of men, v/ho do not complain, and 
 yet are much pitied. 1 had many grievous obstacles 
 to overcome in my office. I had many children and 
 much trial to go through with them. The an-ange- 
 ments of my sitting ^^om were for years those of a 
 sick room. And yet I was always cheerful and of 
 good courage, and enjoyed life, though in another 
 sense tiiat is spoken of on earth. I was called an 
 optimist ; I was almost pitied for my contentment ; 
 my happy temperament, and my gift of bearing mis- 
 fortune with dignity, were extolled. But there is 
 no mock modesty in heaven ; it was not my tempe- 
 rament, but ray trust in God that supported me. 
 My Bible was my daily companion ; it is quite worn 
 out with reading, and many of its pages are stained 
 with tears. But when I closed it I was strengthened 
 for the conflict, and charmed against the arrows of 
 misfortune." 
 
 " And yet," said your father in conclusion, " men 
 are not so much in the wrong in what they say of a 
 happy disposition, when once faith is left out of the 
 question. There are men who, by a constitution of 
 mind entirely independent of their will, are so dis- 
 posed, that even in the darkness of night they will 
 l)erceive and rejoice in the first faint tokens of the 
 grey dawn ; who are capable of overlooking the wants 
 and sorrows of life, and the more gladly turning 
 their eyes towards its bright side. On earth they 
 are called optimists. Others will instinctively turn 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 
112 
 
 LETTERS EROM HEAVEN. 
 
 
 their gaze towards the gravity of life, towards tlie 
 obstacles opposed to every good work. Even on a 
 bright sunlit evening they will be already expecting 
 the shadows of night, and will early see them spread^ 
 ing. Duties corresponding to their gifts are placed 
 before both, and the constitution of their minds may 
 become a blessing or a ruin to either. Faith, however 
 can overcome the weaknesses of both and assimilate 
 the truth of both. In heaven, moreover, there is no 
 longer either optimism or pessimism. Most, indeed^ 
 even among believers, act during their earthly pil- 
 grimage in accordance with this natural constitution 
 of their mind. On earth I was myself called a 
 pessimist. I went through life amidst many sighs ; 
 and often, soon after I had found comfort in prayer, 
 a dark picture of life was again before my eyes. I 
 set faint-heartedly about much which others took in 
 hand as though it were, so to speak, play-work ; and 
 if I left my hand to itself, it took a gloomy delight 
 in wrapping itself in a mourning garment, Not of 
 such mourning, but of conflict with it, was my 
 happiness born, blessed be He who called it into- 
 being." 
 
XVK. 
 
 I LATELY took a journey through heaven with 
 your father, for the purpose of becoming ac- 
 <iuainted with the congregation of saints to which l 
 also now belong. We do not, indeed, travel as you 
 do on earth, getting slowly over short distances with 
 pains and difficulty. The will suffices to give an im- 
 petus to the soul, which gravity does not fetter nor 
 distance restrain from transi)orting itself wherever it 
 desires. For heaven, large as it is, is still our 
 Father's house, and we can all find our way, and feel 
 at home in every part of it. The muititude of the 
 blessed is infinitely great, and the house in which 
 they are all united is proportionately extensive- 
 While I was still on earth, I was often dismayed at 
 the thought of so vast a multitude- Now I know, 
 that each individual soul is known and numbered ;. 
 now 1 see, that there is yet room in the heavenly 
 home, and that many souls are still expected. 
 
 The blessed dwell together, to speak after earthly- 
 fashion, in groups. Love, indeed, unites them all to 
 the Father, and each feels himself the brother 
 of the other. Still a common experience, an in- 
 ward affinity of soul, forms these groups. All under- 
 stand each other, because all speak one language, the 
 language of heaven ; and yet one can perceive how, 
 in even wider circles, generations and races have, 
 from the heavenly Jerusalem as a centre, made 
 
 8 
 
 m 
 
 s 
 
 ^ A 
 
114 
 
 LET2ERS FROM IiEA VEN. 
 
 
 themselves dwelling-places which do not fetter them, 
 but which form the social centre of their life. Hence 
 I can equally speak of circles, of which the time 
 they spend together on earth forms the 1 ond of 
 union, as well as of such as are united by similar 
 interests and similar work in the Lord's vineyard. 
 Like maturity of experience, and a like degree of 
 sanctification, also join souls together in intimnte 
 and enduring association. The Fathers of the earlier 
 ages occupy, indeed, a ditlerent position towards the 
 kingdom of God from the sons of this last century, 
 which often makes its children so rich in this world's 
 goods, while it leaves them so inwardly poor. Even 
 national distinctions make themselves apparent. In 
 the kingdom of God there is indeed neither Greek 
 nor Jew, nor does hatred or opposition separate those 
 who are of the same family. But souls bring with 
 them the ideal world of their earthly life, and the 
 shorter the time they have been in heaven, the more 
 prominent are the differences of the earthly ideas 
 which possess them, and which, though they do not 
 separate, yet distinguish t' >m; while the blessed of 
 former centuries have more and more stripped off the 
 ideal world of earth and replaced it by a heavenly 
 one. Do you ask concerning differences of confes- 
 sions ? You, too, believe in one Holy Catholic 
 Church, and for that very reason keep loyal to the 
 creed of your own Church. In heaven, believers of 
 all Christian confessions are united. Differences 
 have vanished, because with the first breath of the 
 iiie of heaven that loaches the soul, error is known 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEAT. 
 
 "5 
 
 us such and laid aside. You see no rosaries iu heaven 
 and no one can think of a merit earned by good 
 works whan he surveys his own inner life with an 
 unprejudiced eye. Just those who were most zealous 
 aljout good works perceive most clearly, that is i 
 they have meantime maintained their faith, the 
 worthlessness of their works ; they perceive them to 
 have been breathed upon by sin, nay, impre;,'nated 
 therewith, and they unite with us in praise an«l 
 thanksgiving to the merciful God, who justifies us 
 without the words of the law by faith c ily. Or, 
 when they see those, whoi-? on earuh they invoked 
 as saints, themselves worsliipping before the throne 
 of the Lamb ; when they see the Virgin Mary joining 
 in devotion at the feet of her Divine Son with the 
 the Other women who were on earth permitted to bo 
 among the personal followers of the Saviour ; when 
 lastly, they are certain of, and liappy in, the imme- 
 diate presence of their Lord who is on earth also, 
 ^always with His people till the end of the world, 
 
 they tliink no more of worshipping and adoring the 
 .saints. 
 
 You will ask whether we meet with heathens also 
 ill heaven. We are !n heaven, where the Crucified 
 3nd Eisen Jesus reigns, We may, indeed, apply to 
 heaven also His saying, that he has other sheep 
 which are not of this fold, whom He will briag, that 
 •there may be one flock, one Shepherd. It may be 
 that besides His Father's house there is an abode 
 where those dwell who would willingly have heard 
 .tuc can, " Come ye to the marriage,' if it had <^one 
 forth to them. Rut how should they be in heaven 
 
 
 X 
 
 
 
 '?:/ 
 
i6 
 
 IE TTF.RS J^KOM HE A VEN. 
 
 • 
 
 without fuith ( \jdi the Lord call them when \\\\\ 
 how He will. I once heard on earlli tlie sayin,!;, that 
 the virtue,^ ot the heathen are splendid vices. It 
 yecnied to me a haT^*^ naying. But now 1 see that it 
 has its deep truth, and tliat he who utteied it liad at 
 least searched more deeply in the Word of God, and 
 had more knowledge of human nature, thati they 
 who conceive of lieathen teacluirs and founders of 
 reliufions as on a level with the Saviour in the 
 Christian iieaven. Wliat you humanly call great is 
 often very small in the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 What else are often these much admired virtues 
 hut natural gifts, but prudent and calculating self- 
 assertions, or judicious renunciations of things re- 
 garded as either worthless or unattainable .? How 
 frequently is this moderation revealed as crafty 
 sagacity, this valour f»s selfish ambition, this self- 
 sacritice as vanity, this benevolence as pride ! Yes ; 
 leave the departed heathen to the Lord, but re- 
 member, my son, those still living on earth with 
 holy and earnest intercession. 
 
 I made acquaintance on my journey with many 
 whose names I do not tell you, because they have 
 either been never talked of or lOng ago forgotton on 
 earth. Many of these are spiritually n whole head 
 taller than the rest. I mean, especiu.*} , aor ourable 
 women who on earth went on their ■ s i. le and 
 unknown, of whom, to human apprehension, there 
 were no deeds of piety, no special achievements to 
 relate. A.nd yet in heaven we know them all, and 
 + ;. >y iiie ail adorned with crowns. Many others 
 
LETTERS i'ROM HEAVEN. 
 
 117 
 
 :agaiu, with famous names, and lo whom great 
 influence in the kingdom of (iud is ascribed on 
 earth, you would not find. Hut you would, with 
 the deeper seeing eye of eternity, directly see, as 
 you are now unable to d^.), why many names, the 
 ]»earers of which your father pointed out. were uis- 
 knov/n to me on earth. I was indeed only an <'l)- 
 scure woman, whose world was her parish. 1 liad 
 little connection with great contemporaries, and little 
 knowledge of the history of ttie world and of the 
 kinj^dom of God. 
 
 When once you get to heaven it will be a great 
 delight to you, as it was to your father, to gi jet 
 your instructors in Divine knowledge. Not 01 ly 
 those at whose feet you have sat, but those, ti », 
 who have exercised an influence upon you by their 
 writings, and witli whom you are consequently 
 united. 
 
 As we in our journey touched ujion the Paradise 
 of children, your father showed me a tall, venerable 
 old man with white hair, who had lately come to 
 . heaven. He was standing with another, a father of 
 the orphans and forsaken, whom he had not known 
 personally. They were rejoicing together in the 
 souls who, through the grace of God, had been saved 
 by their means. The two were surrounded by many 
 •children, but also by a great band of adults who had 
 once on earth labored for the lost under their bless- 
 ing and on their plan. One was talking about his 
 Eough House, and telling the other of work in the 
 Lord's vineyard on earth. 
 
 
 3 
 
 
ii8 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 
 •^ 
 
 1 also saw Hiany faithful witnesses %o the Christian 
 faith who liad stood alone in a faithless age at about 
 the turn of the last century. I saw also that pious 
 minstrel whose life-task it was to sing of his 
 Saviour's work of redemption. He was walking with 
 two others. One was of much more ancient times, — 
 a man of a religious, but daring mind, an Italian, 
 The other a native of England, whose eyes, which 
 had been blind on earth, were now looking brightly 
 and gladly around him, was wall "ng between the 
 other two. Their harps were silent. They were 
 talking together of the glories of Paradise, once lost 
 and now regained, and of how far the reality excelled 
 those images of it which they had seen in sacred 
 rapture on earth. I was able also to press the hand 
 of that good physician who, like few on earth, 
 equally understood and kept in view the healing of 
 the body and the soul, of that natural philosopher to 
 whom God's earthly creation was a living witness to 
 the excellence of its i\uthor, but at the same time a 
 parable of the eternal world of only partial and con- 
 jectural interpretation. 
 
 When we went farther we were soon surrounded 
 by forms of a long past age ; we saw the godly of 
 the seventeenth century, many crowned like martyrs, 
 and most of them come out of great tribulation, but 
 faithful to the end. "What souls these were ! what 
 fulness of prayer, what boldness of faith, what meek- 
 ness of patience distinguished them ! I saw there 
 the godly minstrels who would always let the Lord 
 manage, and committed their ways to Hun, and who. 
 
LETTERS I^ROM HE A VEN. 
 
 119 
 
 with 
 
 after the calamities of war, sang so chaiiningly of 
 peace. Still farther back, and another group stood 
 before our eyes ; in their tnidst one known to every 
 evangelical Christian, that hero of the faith, with the 
 bold brow, tlie flashing eye, the humble, pious heart. 
 His faithful friend, now long since released from all 
 the sorrows of life, was standing beside him. He 
 was surrounded by a band of comrades who were on 
 earth united with him in his greatest work. I saw^ 
 noble 'and faithful princes in this circle. One of our 
 latest arrivals, who approached this group, told the 
 hero of the celebration on earth of his 400th birth- 
 day and of the great affection with which he is still 
 regarded there — an aft'ection no longer accorded to 
 any in the preceding or following century. And he 
 rejoices that the word has remained on earth, as he 
 was sure it would, and is speaking with the blessed 
 of the last great conflict with Satan. Many prota- 
 gonists, too, of evangelical truth, whose souls as- 
 cended to heaven from the»fiames, and who wore the 
 crown of martyrdom, were near this group. Nay 
 countless godly souls journey to this dwelling that 
 they may see face to face this elect instrument of 
 Crod, whose word has strengtliened and whose ex- 
 ample had encouraged them on earth. 
 
 I also saw that painter who was so much admired 
 on earth — the painter of the Madonna and of mater- 
 nal happiness, before whose greatest picture I had 
 so often stood in that pleasant city of my native 
 land. But the representation of the most highly- 
 favoured among women with the most holy child was 
 to me just the basis, as it were, upon which he sought 
 
 II' 
 
 'It 
 
 '"s 
 
 '•* /I 
 
 >4 
 
120 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 to glorify that mother love and maternal happiness 
 which is the thing on earth that most resembles 
 Paradise, that is most heavenly. 
 
 How shall I go on to describe to you the souls of 
 Xhe middle ages, of the olden time, as you call it on 
 €arth ? Those who in the body were contemplative, 
 pious monks, who lived near to God in faith and 
 prayer in their solitary cells, or marched as armed 
 knights under the sign of the Cross for the liberation 
 of the Holy Sepulchre, or laboured with religious zeal 
 in the building qf those gigantic cathedrals. Here, 
 too, you would see martyrs' crowns. How gloriously 
 they shine upon the heads of the missionaries of 
 Germany ; and lo ! in tlieir group I saw a dear and 
 well-known face which I knew on earth, a missionary 
 who was killed by the hot sun of India, and who has 
 now sought out in heaven those who bore^the burden 
 and heat of the day before liim in the same labour of 
 love. 
 
 liut when I saw the group of primitive Christians 
 who are all of one mind in heaven, also when I saw 
 the holy apostles themselves, who are the dearest and 
 constant companions of the Saviour in heaven also, 
 when I looked on the face of his favourite disciple, I 
 felt just as a younger child-sister might when looking- 
 up to a grown-up brother. They live in the same 
 home, they are united by liearty brotherly and sisterly 
 affection, and yet she looks up with a certain amount 
 of reverence to the grown man. 
 
appiness 
 ssembles 
 
 souls of 
 ,11 it on 
 opiative, 
 dth and 
 8 armed 
 beration 
 ous zeal 
 j-^erej 
 orior.sly 
 aries of 
 ear and 
 3sionary 
 tvho has 
 
 burden 
 ibour of 
 
 ristians 
 I I saw 
 •est and 
 en also, 
 sciple, I 
 lookinm' 
 e same 
 sisterly 
 amount 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 LIFE in another world is eternal. This thought 
 must be terrible to the dwellers in hell, but 
 to us, the saved, it is delightful ; it is necessary to. 
 our happiness that it should be boundless, otherwise 
 it would cease to be perfect happiness. That very 
 growth in knowledge, which is only one side of our 
 life of bliss, requires an eternity for its full develop- 
 ment. For all that exists and all that happens, so 
 far as it is God's, interests us. Behold creation in 
 its endless forms and shapes, which are by no means 
 'exhausted in the earthly creation ; behold the bound- 
 less order of the heavenly bodies, similar to your 
 earth, yet subjected to entirely different laws and 
 conditions of life, bringing forth and supporting life 
 in a different manner, and one far surpassing the 
 measure of earthly knowledge, what materials do 
 these not offer to the soul thirsting after knowledge ! 
 Or survey the history of human development, with 
 !'>s countless proofs of the government of Divine 
 i>rovidence, with its mighty conflict between the 
 powers of heaven and hell. What a delight it is to 
 contemplate that vast progress of the kingdom of 
 Ood upon earth, so often but partially perceptible to 
 the eye of man ; how infinitely blessed to recognise 
 how He does all things well, and knows how to carry 
 out ail His plans of love and salvation ! Xay, a 
 single small portion of this history of human nature, 
 
 r 
 
 t 
 
 > I' 
 
122 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 the course of my own life ofters me endless material.. 
 One day on earth I took a glance at my father's^ 
 journal, and found a section in which he had put 
 down his ideas and plans respecting my education- 
 Such a glance, not only at my father's faithful 
 affection, but also at my own life, which was repre- 
 sented to me in this book under an entirely new 
 light, affected me wonderfully. Here in heaven I 
 am reading of ever fresh proofs of the Fatherly 
 love of God, and I also understand my own inner 
 life better and more thoroughly at every fresh ob- 
 servation. 
 
 The human mind is intended for knowledge. 
 But it cannot hover in the air. The knowledge of 
 God is the foundation on which it must be built. 
 Therefore did God place Himself before the eyes of 
 our first parents in Paradise. They knew Him, and 
 if their life had remained without sin, their know- 
 ledge would have ad/anced, so to speak, in a straight 
 line. Doubt, that first malady of man's mind, 
 shattered his knowledge ; and now man, in his 
 struggles after knowledge, often gels no farther 
 than overcoming this malady, and returning to 
 where he might have stood at the beginning, to 
 certainty of God. The thirst remains in the soul, 
 but it so often drinks of anvthing else rather than 
 of the water of life. There was a saying which I 
 have often heard used on earth by the opponents of 
 Divine revelation, in which a serious and sincere 
 inquirer declares that he would rather receive from 
 the huiid of God the ever active impulse after trutu 
 
iiaterial.. 
 
 father's 
 had put 
 iucation.. 
 
 faithful 
 3 repre- 
 jly new 
 eaven I / 
 b'atherly 
 n inner 
 •esh ob- 
 
 Dwledge. 
 edge of 
 le built, 
 eyes of 
 ;im, and 
 • know- 
 straight 
 s mind,, 
 in his 
 farther 
 ning to 
 ling, to 
 le soul, 
 er than 
 vhich I 
 iients of 
 sincere 
 ve from 
 er truth 
 
 \ 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 12$, 
 
 than truth itself. It is a striking testimony to the- 
 thirst after truth which dwells in every soul of man, 
 and at the same time a fearful testimony to that 
 defiance of the creature who would fain be the 
 Oeator. As if the whole full truth, the truth which 
 it needs an eternity to grasp, could at all be given ;. 
 as if inquiry and knowledge did not begin after the 
 right stand-point is given. He who would com-^ 
 inenco investigations of the starry heavens must 
 have a post of observation. l*oor human nature is 
 so often searching after one, whence it may examine 
 heaven and eternity, and will not see that which 
 has been raised by God Himself. You ought to be 
 looking up from the hills of the Holy Land, and you 
 are wandering in the wildernesses of the heathen, 
 and raising up hills foi- yourselves from the sand of 
 the desert. 
 
 Hence it happens that on earth inquiry and know- 
 ledge are not so closely combined as it seems. You 
 think, perhaps, that it is given to only a small por- 
 tion of mankind, perhaps to those whom you call the 
 aristocracy of intellect, to advance in the knowledge 
 f)f truth. You so readily conceive of heaven as 
 peopled entirely with the so-called cultured. But 
 the millions upon millions who living from hand to 
 mouth, are far removed from your culture, and your 
 inquires, are also children of God, and destined for 
 heaven. Nor is there any such mighty difference 
 between them and you. The simple countryman,, 
 who may perhaps now and then take away with him 
 from tiie sermon the comprehension of some text of 
 
 I' 
 
 
124 
 
 LEXTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 pi 
 
 ll ? 
 
 -^Scripture, or who has really felt the guilt of his sins 
 when confessing them, has got farther than the scho- 
 lar who with his numberless foreign languages is able 
 to say nothing, and vith his extensive learning to 
 undertake nothing. 
 
 What you call knowledge and learning is unknown 
 to the greater part of mankind. The rustic and the 
 labourer have scareelv ever a conviction or an inde- 
 pendent opinion in secular matters. None rises 
 ■above the other. The general view of things is also 
 the view of the individual But they have, or must 
 I say they had, their Christianity, and thereby they 
 stand at the gate of knowledge. It may be that 
 they advance but few steps through the gate, but on 
 .the other hand, they are not walking in the paths of 
 •error. Xo vapour everclouds their souls when the 
 ray of God's seeking grace penetrates to them. Is it 
 not criminal to deprive them of their Christianity, 
 and to give them nothing — absolutely nothing, in 
 exchange ? It is the fearful guilt of your century 
 to take away their faith from the masses, and to 
 stupefy them by artfully doing violence to their con- 
 victions. • A (rod-fearing, rural, and artisan popula- 
 vtion was the fountain of your national strength, the 
 basis of a healt'^y culture, the stay of your social life. 
 You are now beginning to repent of what you have 
 sown. You have in senseless haste heaped up in 
 your country masses of stones, part of which are un- 
 prepared and unhewn, and with these you would 
 have the people build for themselves the edifice of 
 
 ll.ie possession of 
 
 ^science auu Kuowicagc, 
 
 as iliougli 
 
 •stones vould make tliem capable of building. For a 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN-. 
 
 125; 
 
 his sins 
 le scho- 
 3 is able 
 •iiing to 
 
 nknown 
 md the 
 n inde- 
 le rises 
 3 is also 
 or must 
 )y they 
 36 that 
 , but on 
 paths of 
 ben the 
 1. Is it 
 3tianity, 
 liing, in 
 century 
 , and to 
 eir con- 
 popula- 
 gth, the 
 cial life. 
 )u have 
 d up in 
 are un- 
 1 would 
 difice of 
 ssioii oi* 
 For a 
 
 long' time they beheld them with indifference and 
 felt no interest in them. At last they have noticed 
 them, but they do not build with them, they hurl 
 them against you and your erections. 
 
 It is folly to think that mankind nmst in the first 
 place obtain by streinious efforts its faith in God, the- 
 foundation of all knowledge. It has efforts enough 
 to make. Leave their faith, or at least their Christi- 
 anity, to the masses, for your earth will have perished 
 long before your so-called knowledge has become the- 
 common property of the masses. The Church of 
 those who know is the heavenly Church, which -will 
 one day dwell on the new earth. 
 
 Opposite our parsonage — as you will remember — 
 lay Sandhof, a small peasant property. Even if we 
 had not lived in such active intercourse with its- 
 inhabitants, we should yet have known their history; 
 we looked at their windows from our sitting room. 
 Old Sand was of a firm, almost a defiant character.. 
 He was a strict churchman. Every Sunday he was in 
 his place at church , he maintained good discipline in 
 his family. The day began and ended with family 
 prayer. But there was an absei ce of all works of 
 Christian benevolence, nay, of every proof of neigh- 
 l)0urly love. Your father often lamented his back- 
 wardness in giving, for he contributed to no collec- 
 tions, and was tlie only countryman who passed the 
 alms bag without giving anything. When your father 
 once put it to his conscience, he appealed to the text, 
 that the right hand must not know what the left 
 hand doeth, and broke olT the coiiversation. We lid 
 
 5 
 
 » 
 
 
126 
 
 LETTERS EitOM HEAVEN. 
 
 not know that he had made several extensive loans to 
 poor members of the congregation without interest, 
 and with the express condition of the strictest silence; 
 that he had made great sacrifices to save a voun<£ 
 man. his godson, who had been led into evil ways in 
 town by bad companions, and was in the greatest 
 poverty. He was a man well versed in the Scrip- 
 tures, but decidedly unfavourable to all that is on 
 earth called the progress of the age. He held scien- 
 tific farming in contempt, and the new system of 
 teaching at the village school was an offence to him. 
 Your father, as school inspector, had many contests 
 with him about it. He never read a newspaper, and 
 no one told him plainly and simply what had hap- 
 pened, but only what the townspeople thought of it, 
 and that was to him a matter of indifference. Towards 
 his son, who after completing his time of service 
 returned from a garrison town to the paternal proper- 
 ty, and wanted to introduce many modern improve- 
 ments, he was even rough and harsh. 
 
 You know that he died suddenly. He met with an 
 accident at hay-carrying. Your father found some 
 difficulty in preaching his funeral sermon ; he even 
 mentioned the roughness and harshness of character 
 which distinguished him notwithstanding his faith- 
 fulness to his creed. And what a pure and noble 
 .soul he is ! It is touching and striking to see how the 
 simple character of this man has developed in Parad- 
 ise, how perceptibly his soul grows and thrives. He 
 has so little to leave off. Not that he was free from 
 jLike any other soai lie has lieen cleansed ironi 
 
 5in 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN: 
 
 127 
 
 loans tt> 
 interest, 
 silence ; 
 \ vouim 
 ways in 
 greatest 
 2 Scrip- 
 it is on 
 d scien- 
 stem of 
 to him. 
 contests 
 )er, and 
 id hap- 
 ht of it, 
 Cowards 
 service 
 proper- 
 uprove- 
 
 ithe great guilt of sin by the blood of the Lamb. But 
 the little knowledge he had was of a kind that can be 
 built upon in heaven • lie had, and wished to have no 
 other. It is not his first task, as it is that of most 
 who could boast of earthly wisdem, to disentangle 
 truth from errors, follies, prejudices and speculations. 
 And what a refined moral tact he had acquired even 
 •on earth. Not that tact which is the result of a cer- 
 -tain social polish, and whicli a cold and unloving 
 heart acquires with the greatest ease, but that Chris- 
 itian firmness of action which is neither made sickly 
 by doubt nor disturbed by the influence of others. 
 Even his stout adherence to the customs of his fathers 
 was an expression of the faithfulness of his nature, 
 and what is required of stewards is that a man be 
 iound faithful. 
 
 
 with an 
 id some 
 le even 
 iiaracter 
 s faith- 
 d noble 
 how the 
 \ Parad- 
 3S. He 
 ee from 
 ed iioni 
 
 1 
 
XIX. 
 
 B 
 
 £■? 
 
 WHEN [ led you to the Paradise of children, I 
 omitted to remind you of thousands upon 
 thousands of souls, wlu) thoup;h on earth they no 
 longer inhabited a child's bod}', have in heaven the 
 same claim to care, guidance, and help as children. 
 They were in the same condition on earth, only there 
 they were without that perception of the poverty 
 and littleness of their inner life, v.' ich thoy first 
 acquired in the light of heaven. Many a one 
 thought himself on earth not only very independent 
 but also very advanced, who has now in heaven to 
 begin at the first rudiments. Oh how little I know, 
 above all how little 1 am, is the c ) nplaint of many ! 
 Do not think that there is ia heaven any ostentation 
 of wisdom, or even any spiritual pride which leads 
 us to look down upon and judge others. Onl}' we 
 cannot ignore facts. 
 
 The greater number of these indigent ones — do- 
 not be astonished at hearing it — come from the ranks 
 of the so-called cultured, average people educated 
 according to pattern, whose characters have had no 
 kind of development, and whose knowledge is an 
 entirely external acquisition and quite unconnected 
 with their inner life. A kind of know^ledge of no 
 importance or use in heaven. It is not all such in- 
 deed by many that come to us, but those who are 
 saved by the loving mercy of the Saviour, and do 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 1^9 
 
 come are so often at the very first begiimin,<^s of the 
 spiritual life. Character ? do you ask. Are there 
 not also bad and spoilt characters ? Yes, truly, 
 character may almost lead to hell. Character is a 
 tree growing in the soil of a sound, free heart, which 
 spreads out great branches if its growth is not. dis- 
 turbed, and which is indeed as likely to be a poison- 
 tree as a fruit-tree. But wJien this tree is made 
 good by tlie Spirit of God, it is a plant in which the 
 heavenly gardener can take > 'light. With your 
 average education you trim the trees of human 
 nature according to your pattern, to make them look 
 HS mucli alike as possible, and apparently at least of 
 thv same height. The best branches are often broken 
 off that the uniformity may not be destroyed. Actual 
 trees ma,)'- occasionally flourish under such a process, 
 but human souls, each of which has, by the will of 
 God, a different nature — its peculiar nature — and is 
 also subjected to a different law of growth, cannot 
 bear it. It stunts their heart-roots, and thus humari 
 souls get perplexed abcut themselves, and do not 
 want to be characters. Instead of eradicating the 
 shoots of sin in the conflict for holiness they prune 
 away their own branches after the pattern of others. 
 Fashion takes the place of morality, fashion not only 
 in dress but in the training of the inner life. It is 
 the fashion to go or not to go to church, the fashion 
 to take part or not to take part in works of charity, 
 to do this, to leave that undone. How paltry ! 
 
 Listen to the confession of one who has now come 
 to maturity in the atmosphere of heaven, who clear- 
 9 
 
 
1 V 
 
 ' t - 
 
 130 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 Ip perceives in vvlial respects his age sinned tigainst 
 liini. and consequently lie against liimself. 
 
 " My mother," he says, " died early. I never 
 knew my father. My niotlier was an earnest be- 
 liever. She broufjlit me up religiously, but the seeds 
 she planted lay undeveloped in me until by the 
 giuce of ( fod they began to grow on my death-bed. 
 A3 I was tolerably well off, everything was done to 
 impart to me a good education. I came to the 
 capital to be a pupil in a public school. The 
 religious instruction made no impression upon me. 
 I appropriated at most such informatio'i as was 
 necessary to understand, as our director said, the 
 problems and aims of the age. My heart had no 
 interest in these things. It was only the instruc- 
 tion for conftrmation of an aged clergyman that 
 really touched my heait. I certainly felt love for 
 the aged pastor, though not as yet love for God. 
 While yet a youth I was the ruin of a young girl 
 with whom 1 formed an ac(j[uaintance on a holiday 
 tour. I had read in a book of travels of the savage 
 maidens of the South Sea Islands who offer them- 
 selves to strangers for a trifling gratuity. And I 
 did not see why I should not be gratified when it 
 would cost me only a few lies and promises, whicli 
 I was not in earnest about. By chance I afterwards 
 learnt that this girl died in great misery. Then my 
 conscience wasshocked. 1 remembered the old pastor, 
 and wished to confide in him. My guardian learnt 
 that I was about to visit him. He warned me that 
 
 t.Vio mon tx7ac Irnnwrn oa virrhtfinna nvAvmnP.h /'hp. was 
 
.^-m 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 131 
 
 in fact, working,' zealously for a mission). Uelijjfious 
 fanaticism, ^le said, was infections, and I obeyed. 
 Nevertheless I cannot say that 1 fell any farther 
 into a life of special sin. On the contrary, I was 
 much concerned as to what people might say of me, 
 and learnt to care for my honoiu'. I even imagined 
 that I had gradually become a highly respectal)le 
 man. I gave myself up without reserve to the plea- 
 sures of the capital, but I ran into no excess, and 
 always observed a certain amount of moderation. 
 Let there be no follies to repent of next morning, 
 was perhaps my motto. I was an average man, both 
 in good and in evil. I felt no holy indignation at 
 sin, I felt no enthusiasm for goodness. Having 
 n<jw become a man I regarded in a coolly critical 
 manner a revival of vital Christianity in our town, 
 though I was by no means at iieart so hostile to its 
 manifestations as the favour 1 showed to progress, 
 «o-called, might give me the appearance of beinu. 
 The greater number of my relations and acquaint- 
 ances were on the same side, and I had neither tlio 
 moral courage, nor especially the necessary acquaint- 
 ance with the matter to oppose them. My views on 
 the (questions of the day, and above all on prominent 
 Cliurch movements, were formed at the beer table. 
 I had no objection to occasionally changing my 
 opinion, especially when an objective estimation of 
 things seemed to require it. But I had also my 
 faith, which I let no one deprive me of. I believed 
 in humanity as I called it. Humanity was my 
 
 (TTAOl^Lil I i\c\ n/if Iriii-mr \xrV\ \\- \ n^.illir f K^ »i-i ivli ^ r\^ 1 ♦- 
 
 u- 
 
 h 
 
132 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE/ VEN. 
 
 I only know that it often cost me trouble to main- 
 tain my faith in the continuous moral progress of 
 the human race by its own resources, that I had to 
 close my eyes designedly to facts. But it was just 
 because my opinions were so very obscure that they 
 could not be overcome. Of one thing alone I was 
 certain, that I hated and persecuted ever}- earnest 
 and zealous reaction against the evil that was in the 
 world. At the same time I liked to be benevolent, 
 and promoted humane undertakings. Dilig«Mit col- 
 lecting for humane purposes, especially when the 
 only sacrifice it cost me was the cheap one of my 
 time, or when I could thereby impede Christian 
 benevolence, was my delight. When in some merry 
 meeting we had broken the necks of a whole battery 
 of champagne bottles, I would carefully pick up the 
 corks to sell them for the poor. I was never 
 married. I had been told much of the exaggerated 
 requirements of the fair sex, and of the bad habits 
 in which they were brought up ; I saw so man}^ 
 examples of unhappy marriages, and I myself 
 required so much from a wife, that I feared I 
 should not find one who would satisfy me. Thus 
 I passed my long life. You, dear brethern and 
 sisters, know my death, and how the Saviour yet 
 found me; but you know also how unspeakably 
 poor I was when I came among you, and how in 
 your faithful love you had to rear and teach the 
 hoary headed child." 
 
 Thus far his narrative. But when I look back at 
 
 ^ J T /• 
 
 .vviint 1 fiuvc siiiu, i luei tnat i must remma you, uiy 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. ' 133 
 
 dear son, that iu those circles also, which call them- 
 selves believing on earth, there exits much unhealthy 
 conformity to one pattern, much una'-thorized tyran- 
 ny of fashion. I know parsonages on earth, and I 
 mention these that we may first strike upon our own 
 breasts,— I know parsonages which were places of 
 worldly pomp and splendour—and such worldly 
 pomp may be displayed even by statuettes of Christ 
 and Gothic embroidery, as to offer no place where 
 one of the common people would venture to sit down" 
 and open his heart freely. I know clergymen's wives 
 who seem to have forgotten the words of St. Peter 
 about the plaiting of the hair and wearing jewels 
 ot gold, and who want to be not women but only 
 ladies. I know clergymen wlio pay more respect to 
 the aristocracy of birth than to that of intellect, and 
 With whom a gentleman and a godly man seem iden- 
 tical. I know clergymen's children who show plainly 
 enough that they are brought up for money gettincr 
 and pleasure, but not for quiet godly ways. 
 
 And what of Christian characters? Even in 
 heaven I cannot search into the heart of any man 
 who IS still alive, and see how it is with the life of 
 taith, while of those who are in heaven I know that 
 they desire to grow and will grow, even if they 
 ^ttained to faith only in their last hour. I do not 
 know how many of those who are now alive on earth 
 are living merely according to traditional phrases, 
 practising their accustomed employments, which may 
 bring th.!m earthly honour, and are by no means 
 always undertaken for the Lord's sake, and walking 
 in the beaten track of an average externally Christian 
 lite. But I do know that I have not met with many 
 whom I certainly thought to find here; famous 
 preachers, much talked of Christian workers, souls 
 whose lips overflowed with unction i 
 
 K' 
 
 1,1. 
 

 ,^, 
 
 XX. 
 
 Do you still remember the little verandah on the 
 garden side of your father's house where we used 
 to sit on mornings and evenings is summer ? How 
 pleasant those mornings were if eveiy one was well 
 and no special trouble oppressed us ! There we made 
 our plans for the day. The delightful fragrance 
 which came from the garden of itself attracted us 
 thither, where ripening berries greeted us, and where 
 exuberant weeds had also their lesson for us. The 
 birds assisted at our morning devotions, the villagers 
 going forth with their tools to field-work greeted us 
 silently and respectfully, and the moining bel! 
 mingled its tones in our prayer. 
 
 The evenings were almost pleasanter. When the 
 shadows fell, you children tired with play used to 
 nestle up to us. The night scented rockets had 
 opened, and the stocks gave forth their perfume. 
 Distant singing was heard from the village, it was 
 the young girls singing perhaps some hymns they 
 had learnt at school. Then all was silent. There 
 fell upon us somewhat of the peace of God, nay ii 
 foretaste of the peace of eternity. Then we would 
 pray: 
 
 « Abide with us, fasi falls the eventide ; 
 The shadows deepen ; Lord, with us abide ! " 
 
 or sing Paul Gerhardt's charming evening hymn, 
 *' Now rest the woods again," a hymn in which I 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 135 
 
 delight even now, when my heart is " from sinful 
 works set free, nor pines in weary sorrow more," and 
 when Christ has " given to me that spotless robe that 
 ever shines." 
 
 Add togetlier the morning freshness and the even- 
 ing tranquillity, that vivid morning' feeling which 
 flows through our whole being, and the peaceful even- 
 ing feeling inspired by the hope of slumber, and then 
 you will have some notion how we feel in a land 
 where no sun rises or sets, wliere no mid-day heat 
 exhausts and unnerves, and where the rapturous joy 
 of existence is always equal. 
 
 We are sitting on a flowery hill, and thinking of 
 our joint earthly pilgrimage. Here, too, the flowers 
 are fragrant, and many a one passing by gives us a 
 friendly greeting. Distant singing is heard, a band, of 
 virgin souls liovers past, clothed in white and deckeci 
 with flowers. I recognise the hyra?i they are singing, 
 it is just like the one you know, and like, "Let us 
 go our Lord to meet." 
 
 It is composed by the same much loved author, 
 but the heavenly hymn bears the same relation of the 
 earthly as fruition does to hope ; he has now entered 
 the heavenly Jerusalem, he knows the city with the 
 golden streets. But we are thinking of the time when 
 we also sang, " How will it be." It is pleasant, even 
 in heaven, nay, far pleasanter than it can be on earth, 
 to give oneself up to rememl^rancc^ There we have 
 carefully to separate happy memories from sad ones, 
 and often violently to turn our busy fancy from the 
 path she had chosen. Here the sting is extracted 
 
i 
 
 
 ta". 
 
 136 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 I- 
 
 
 » 
 
 from all sad remembrances, they lit pleasantly into 
 the whole picture of life, nay, from its necessary 
 shadows. The eye even dwells with preference upon 
 many a dark spot, and passes over with indifference 
 many days once thought happy, but which now appear 
 empty and trivial. 
 
 Your father had taken his harp. Oh that you 
 could hear the heavenly harping \ They are not the 
 broken off, quickly expiring tones of the earthly harp 
 that we hear, tones which are only effective through 
 the rapid succession of chords. Each sound is like 
 that of those soul-breathing stringed instruments 
 which, resting on the breast of man, reveal the depths 
 of the human heart. Every string of the heavenly 
 harp sounds full of soul, not veiled and foreboding, 
 but merely suggestive and advancing from enigma to 
 enigma, like all earthly music. In heaven, on the 
 contrary, her tongue is loosened and she speaks plain- 
 ly. When on my death-day you sit down to the 
 harmonium and play the choral, " Jesus my refuge," 
 you too speak to your wife and children in sounds. 
 But it is only lisping, like a child who is learning to 
 talk. The heavenly music is a medium of thought, 
 and gives striking expression to a world of common 
 ideas, and that the more perfectly, the closer the 
 mutual communion of the performer and the listener. 
 It is speech transfigured. 
 
 The harp now sounded a bridal hymn ; he who on 
 earih spoke so little of love, and next to nothing of 
 earthly love, who, even when he wooed me, chose me 
 
LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 137 
 
 •eternity, he plays to me in heaven, where they neither 
 marry nor are ^^iven in marriage, a song about married 
 happiness ! Now he is leading me to your cradle, 
 you smile for the first time,, an angel is hovering over 
 your bed. Now a glance into the church and at the 
 pastor's seat beside the altar, it is the moment before 
 the reception of the sacrament, the absolution is pro- 
 nounced, the peace of God lias entered my heart, a 
 sacred happy moment — now he depicts to me an 
 anxious time, that of the war. A strange sight for 
 heaven, men equipped for battle, uniforms and wea- 
 pons ! But yet it was a time of grace and blessing, 
 a season of teaching and ripening for the inner man. 
 Thus do the years pass before my eyes with their 
 hours of joy and days of mourning, all free gifts 
 of Cod, all stages to happiness. And now you, my 
 son, leave home, your father makes your youth and 
 your youthful happiness pass by in a gentle echo. 
 Age with its stealthy tread approaches. Then the 
 harp sounds more muffled and softly; it is as though 
 a cloud, but a cloud of golden tissue, lay upon the 
 harp-strings, earthly tones are heard — Jesus my 
 refuge — he is playing his death song. Then again 
 his playing bursts into rushing chords, victory, re- 
 joicing, adoration resound — and he lays the harp 
 aside. Meantime a dear faithful soul had approached 
 us, an old friend of our family, who being herself un- 
 married, was in close intimacy with us, and one to 
 whom your children are . much indebted. She had 
 understood your father's playing, for the interests of 
 
 
 
 
 xxi net jrtjttix^cx vxaj*o oixc tto-o 
 
i?8 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN, 
 
 ^. 
 
 
 excitable and visionaiy, full of enthusiasm, or sup- 
 posed enthusiasm, especially for art and poetry. She- 
 composed a good deal of poetry herself, and not 
 without skill. But her lays stayed modestly on their 
 stem like violets, and gave forth their fragrance only 
 for herself and for us, no one thought of collecting 
 them in a bouquet and letting them exhale their 
 odour for others. She found in poetry the very 
 heart of life and its star. It was not, however, till 
 her riper years that she was brought, partly by the 
 influence of your father, to the right understanding, 
 and consequently to the true appreciation of poetry. 
 Her inner life became more ch; tened but deeper. 
 She learned to love instead of to dote upon poetry. 
 
 She now spoke, saying lo your father : " Do you not 
 think that poetry is to earth what this music is to 
 heaven ? " 
 
 " Yes," said he. " To make poetry means to recall. 
 The poet ?ay to another what the latter already 
 knows, what he has felt and experienced; and the 
 better lie is able to say just that only, and at the right 
 time, the better is he understood, and the more thank- 
 fully is his gift accepted. He creates nothing, he 
 only gives to what has been experienced, i'ts a typical 
 purity, by divesting it of all that is mean and acci- 
 dental. He thus removes the picture which he paints 
 from the limitations of the temporal, and gives it 
 eternity for a back-ground. It is not indeed to all 
 that the poet has something to say. He cannot recall 
 where there is no common experience. But even the 
 common-place can make an impression when it 
 touches kindred minds. 
 
1, or sup- 
 )etiy. 8he- 
 , and not 
 ly on their 
 'ance only 
 collecting 
 hale their 
 
 the very 
 vvever, till 
 bly by the 
 rstanding, 
 of poetry. 
 It deeper. 
 
 poetry. 
 )o you not 
 usic is to 
 
 3 to recall, 
 r already 
 ; and the 
 i the right 
 re thank- 
 )thing, he 
 5 a typical 
 and acci- 
 he paints 
 I gives it 
 eed to all 
 not recall 
 even tlie 
 when it 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN, x^,^ 
 
 Vou have already perceived on eartli that the 
 object of life is not identical with remembrance. 
 Not graceful thought and sweet remembrance of it] 
 but work and remembrance constitute the deep 
 reality of life. And in saying this it is self-evident 
 that I am chietiy thinking of tiiat sacred, serious work 
 to which we only, as it were, lend our hands, while 
 another architect stands behind us, And the more 
 those who will iiave nothing to do with work turn 
 only and always to remembrance, the more is their 
 inner life stunted, and the more are they constrained 
 to puff out artificially its slight substance, and to 
 deceive themselves in respect of its paltriness. It is 
 so easy for youth, whose emotional life is so closely 
 connected with its bodily development, to revel in 
 emotion. But there are also elderiy persons, whose 
 eyes look backwarks- and backwards only, and who 
 no longer know of any going forwards. And it is 
 just in old age that one learns to forget the dark spots 
 of his past life, or even with criminal levity to smooth 
 down or hush up the faults of past days. But a time 
 is corning when this will be no longer possible, and 
 there is a place where, though remembrance is tor- 
 ture, the face must be turned backwards upon the 
 past life, because there is no longer any forwards. 
 
 I 
 
XXI. 
 
 '^ 
 
 
 It 
 
 
 \¥ 
 
 *nnHE soul has its sicknesses as well as the 
 A body. Though -in heaven these are got over 
 and deprived of their pernicious influence, yet 
 traces of them still remain in the soul, and furnish 
 -conclusions concerning its past life. How frequent 
 is regret for a life of failure and emptiness, the 
 traces of which reach into eternity, and such regret 
 is most frequent just among those whose life a 
 higher education might apparently have rendered 
 a full one, or whom it might have placed in the right 
 .path ! 
 
 This liappens because the earthly life is regarded 
 by so many as no part of the eternal life, and thus 
 becomes an amputated limb which must perish. 
 The same folly, which speaks of a self-originated 
 world, talks also of an object wliich earthly life is to 
 have in itself ; and this supposed object not being 
 -even comprehended, not to say attained, by most^ 
 complaints of a wasted life abound. Demands on 
 earthly happiness are screwed up to the highest 
 pitch, vain and disproportionate claims are cherished, 
 and life, instead of being vigorously and contentedly 
 made the most of, is dreamed away in the contem- 
 plation of its possibilities. Thus desire for faithful 
 work is paralyzed, and the flowers, which bloom 
 «ven on earth for the earnest pilgrim to eternal life, 
 are trodden under foot. 
 
11 as the 
 
 ? got over 
 
 lence, yet 
 
 d furnish 
 
 frequent 
 
 iuess, the 
 
 ch regret 
 
 >se life a 
 
 rendered 
 
 the right 
 
 regarded 
 and thus 
 it perish, 
 mginated 
 
 life is to 
 lot being 
 by most, 
 lands on 
 J highest 
 herished, 
 itentedly 
 
 contem- 
 
 faithful 
 h bloom 
 [•nal life, 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 141 
 
 I know a faithful soul wnich on earth belonged 
 to a miner. He si)oke of his life as follows : " 1 
 passed my whole life in the hard labour of my 
 calling. I spent a great part of it in the bowels of 
 the earth, and yet I always felt myself happy in my 
 occupation, and did my hard work without com- 
 plaint. I had many a domestic cross to bear, and 
 n)y wife shared many a heavy trial with me. ' But 
 we knew Him upon whom we could cast our cares. 
 Humbly as I acknowledge my past life to have been 
 an underserving and a sinful one, I can yet say also 
 that, from ray youth upwards. I kept to the grace of 
 God in Christ. I knew that I was a pilgrim upon 
 earth, but one who was to profit by the time of hi,9. 
 pilgrimage. Besides, our dangerous avocation warn- 
 ed us plainly enough to set our house in order and 
 to be mindful of eternity. We knew why, before 
 beginning our day's woH., we commended our souls 
 to the mercy of (lod. I have lived through times 
 when the voices of those who talked of the amelior- 
 ation of the condition of labourers, and an equal 
 partition of property, reached us. And I should have- 
 had nothing to say against being offered lighter work 
 for better wages, but the circumstance that the 
 edifice of our prosperity was to be built upon the- 
 soil of unbelief, preserved me from danger. We 
 were to give up heaven and get earth in exchange. 
 I would in no ca^e have given up heaven, even ii I 
 had seen that this exchange would really have been 
 effected. And so I escaped unharmed those tempt- 
 ations to vvhich thousands of my comrades succumbed. 
 
142 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 %l 
 
 -f! 
 
 
 %%. 
 
 und were depnived of botli their earl hly and heavenly 
 Imppiness. My life, nolwithstaiiding the few advan- 
 tages it offered, never seemed barren. My death— 
 I was killed by the falling in of a shaft— came 
 upon me, not indeed flesired, for 1 wanted to see 
 my children grow up; but 1 was able in the 
 moment of death to commit myself to the merey 
 of (loil, which ruled all things for me and mine. 
 My body lies buried by a fallen rock in the depths 
 of the earth. A comrade clung to it in the ago.iies 
 of death. Where may his soul be ? How will it 
 be on the resurrection day when he loosens his 
 arm from mine,' when we look each other in the 
 face again— and perhaps go different ways! I 
 myself am inHnitely happy at being in heaven, and 
 yet I like to remember my earthly life and its 
 work." 
 
 Let me bring before you^a scene which I lately 
 witnessed. I introduce you to a circle of advanced 
 souls, one of whom is especially pre-eminent, and 
 attmcts, as it were, the regards of the rest. It is the 
 soul of an aged man. Listen to what he tells of his 
 life. 
 
 " My soul," he says, '• no longer weais the exact 
 image of the body it dwelt in on earth. I was 
 there quite deformed and a cripple. My parents 
 had left me a cottage at the extreme end of a small 
 town. I there lay upon my bed, quite drawn to- 
 gether by rheumatic gout, and visited by frequent 
 days of severe pain. 1 cannot remember the time 
 when I could walk, I was only able to get about by 
 
d heavenly 
 few advan- 
 y death — 
 laft — came 
 ied to see 
 le in the 
 the mercy 
 and mine, 
 he depths 
 le agOiiies 
 >w will it 
 losens liis 
 er in the 
 ways ! I 
 (aven, and 
 J and its 
 
 1 I lately 
 advance* I 
 inent, and 
 It is the 
 ills of his 
 
 the exact 
 . I was 
 ■ parents 
 f a small 
 Irawu to- 
 freqnent 
 the time 
 about by 
 
 •crawling, tiiat is when the state of my body allowed 
 me to get about at all. I did not. however, live on 
 alone, but was able, on the contrary, to earn enou-h 
 to supply my few bodily wants. Myhands and 
 arms were sound, though weak. 80 I knitted 
 when 1 could, and also repaired small articles 
 of lurniture, for I had some little skill. My 
 small earnings were not only sutticient for myself • 
 I had also the happiness of being able to do ijood to 
 others." "^^ 
 
 " Yes. God requite you for it," interrupted an- 
 other ; " good in every way, temporal and spiritual." 
 " I had read a good deal," he continued, " was in- 
 tnnately acquainted with the Bible, and had learnt 
 nmch f om the clergyman of the place, who used to 
 visit me, for 1 was not able to go to a place of wor- 
 ship. I had also read upon my solitary couch a 
 good number of secular works, and thus taken a sur- 
 vey of much secular knowledge. I had many visitors, 
 not only such as required my small services, but also 
 such as a certain curiosity, or a pleasure in my 
 mother-wit, brought around ma I was fond Jf 
 youth. The young people of the place would often 
 sit in my house on Sunday afternoons. It was 
 especially interesting to me to follow the progress of 
 culture of those, who had perhaps gone to a distance 
 to higher educational institutions and who visited 
 me in the holidays. They often brought back with 
 them a new kind of learning, which little accorded 
 with my simple belief in Scripture, and against which 
 I had some difficulty in makintr « afonrj iv« 4.u„.- 
 
c 
 
 Pi 
 
 t 
 
 J 
 
 M4 LET7EES FROM hEA VEN. 
 
 knew how to state simple, nake.l unbelief, in learne.l 
 
 anguage. and with the help of many foreign words 
 
 ' \ ^l" t r''"' '" ^^^"^ "1^ "^^ ^•^rds, for the 
 
 And lo. when the matter was expressed in German 
 the new learning came out of its cocoon as a very old 
 one It always consisted in a denying or ignorin.. 
 of eterrnty. ^Make the best of this life! for fhere is 
 no life to come, no resurrection.' This was how one 
 ot them preached to me one day. 1 asked how with 
 my contracted and miserable existence I wLs tr, 
 manage that, and how it happened thai being just 
 vvhat Iwas I should never have had a no^on of 
 having missed the object of my life. Then he talked 
 about enviable moderation and a limited horizon 
 But it also happened, that one who had with a com>' 
 passionate smile conceded, that there was some ..ood 
 in Christian faith for people in my condition, after- 
 wards humbly confessed that it was at least as good 
 for people in his condition, And I have more than 
 once succeeded in convincing would-be wise youno- 
 people t^.at their sceptical views pre-.uppose an imt 
 plicit faith, and are built upon at least a thousand in- 
 credibilities and miracles, whUe my belief in Scrn.ture 
 and miracles is based upon one single unpiwed 
 assumption, belief in the living God, Yes. as was 
 once said it takes a great deal of superstition to 
 deny miracles. 
 
 Thus I lived on happ,> and contented, although the 
 Lord was p eased to lead me through many painful 
 nights; and though I was devoid of all those things 
 
 'TJ 
 
t ill learned 
 I'eign words, 
 rds, for the 
 ii' Crerman, 
 in (Torman, 
 3 a very old 
 or ignoring 
 for tliere is 
 IS how one 
 1 how, with 
 J was to 
 being just 
 I notion of 
 I lie talked 
 d horizon, 
 ith !i coni- 
 3oine good 
 on, after- 
 3t as good 
 nore than 
 36 young 
 se an im- 
 usand in- 
 Scripture 
 inpiDved 
 s, as was 
 tition to 
 
 Jugh the 
 
 painful 
 
 3 things 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 tl'is even on eartl, Ti , ■^ ^"'' '""; ^ f«l' 
 
 willing to o^o when n.„ r' 1 ***' "ideed 
 
 the old pastor was ri'-ht when o« T ■ ' *"" 
 
 ed, he insisted in mv f, ," ' I """' """" '<"""- 
 
 "ess,andthat n^ "l f dd 'r""/'"' "'""""'■ 
 of the My. should o'uttej "~o^r ^"'>-- 
 
 near ™„ a/e :o:':::;te. i "1 1'"^™" ^^ "- 
 
 neith- the course nor the :r„,t^iX'S'r 
 'l"ently think of an elderly single ladv wh„ i 
 vsited lue in the later ycXs o? m 1 «^ "" 
 well read, and had had a liber,? ? ®'"' '"** 
 
 inwardly very poo. sl fh 'd ^ad" "' d"" ""^ 
 
 '.ad never, s f 'tho thtT" "''°°'' """"'• S"^'"' 
 which .he 'eourd , eX ^e!" s^e^ '""'*""" '" 
 was weary of her earthlv^ife b t honed f' "'' f '* 
 
 10 
 
 / 
 

 M 
 
 146 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 the worth of our earthly life with reference to eternity 
 we shall undervalue it. But all was in vain. I do 
 not know whether she is still alive." 
 
 "Yes, she is, she is," broke in a voice, "'but not on 
 earth; she is alive in heaven," A woman with the 
 traces of age, who had just departed, approached him, 
 she was still bearing in her hand the crucifix, whicli 
 she had clasped in death ; she greeted him as a child 
 does a father. ''She is alive," she cried, "through 
 thee, thou faithful loving soul, through thee she 
 learned to serve, to love, to believe, and she has 
 found the object of her life." 
 
 But he stretched out his hand and said : " Not 
 through me, but through Him who seeks and .Snds 
 that which was lost, to Him be the glory ! " 
 
I do 
 
 XXII. 
 
 'T^HE view whicli we take in lieaven of our earthly 
 A lot, and of the dispensations of Providence, 
 resembles that taken by the grown man of the events 
 of his youth, of his education, of tlie chastisements 
 inflicted on him by his parents. He recogn'ses a 
 salutary discipline in much that his parents did, 
 which once seemed to him harsh and incomprehen- 
 i^ible, and it is not till he has learned to bless their 
 •chastening hand that he fully estimates their parental 
 love, lle'mg able in like manner, and also from a 
 higher stand-point, to survey our earthly life, that 
 which was once incomprehensible is clear to us' also, 
 •all its enigmas are solved, and a light is cast en all 
 that was obscure. Therefore reverence the ways of 
 Ood even when you do not understand them. A ci^e 
 is before my eyes in which a mother was taken aw ly 
 from a troop of children not yet brought up, and 
 indeed on the very day that slie had given birth to 
 the youngest. On earth only the fearful sport of 
 chance, or the inscrutable dispensation of God could 
 be spoken of. Xot so in heaven. The woman had 
 long had dim presentiments that she should not sur- 
 vive the approaching event. These were the finger- 
 posts of God directing her to eternity and eternal 
 salvation. And she understood them. She had set 
 
 her ilO'lSH in nvi-iof anA iiF.in %.ji„--I.. i.^ J i • _ 
 
 "* '"' '~-'-'-^ "a:s i.^a-aj Lu ucpurL lit peaCe 
 
 and joy when her hour came, which otherwise would 
 
148 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 r 
 
 SiiSb 
 
 not have been the case. She died in full conscious- 
 ness, and was able in dying to commend herself and 
 her family to the mercy of God ; and her prayer hat! 
 a deep reaching and indelible effect. Her death was 
 a salutary shock to lier husband. I mean not merely 
 such as death exercises upon every one who has to 
 \yitness it—for death is the aptest and most impres- 
 sive preacber tij the world— but another also. He 
 became conscious of his paternal duties. He had 
 hitherto concerned himself very little about his child- 
 ren, except by playing with them in his leisure hours. 
 He had left the care of them to the mother, and lived 
 only for his business, as he called the incessant pur- 
 suit of gain. He has learned that he cannot discharge 
 all his duties by money, and that there are also duties 
 whose fulfib.nent brings no palpable gain. And as to 
 the children, they were tenderly loved by this affec- 
 tionate but weak mother, but had also been petted 
 and spoilt. Ar a hen shelters her cliickens under her 
 wings, so did she shield her growing children from 
 all contact with other people, from every rough blast 
 of life. In spite of this seclusion, serious faults had 
 developed themselves in the children, but these their 
 mother did not see. In one a defiant and tyrannical 
 disposition, which would scarcely submit to the mother, 
 andnot at all to any one else ; in another an effimin ate 
 sentimental character which recoiled from all earnest 
 and energetic action. These faults came into aotice 
 immediately after the death of the mother. The 
 seriousness of life was a wholesome discipline to the 
 children. They now remember their mother with 
 
coiiscious- 
 erself and 
 )rayer hati 
 death was 
 lot merely 
 ho havS to 
 St impres- 
 also. He 
 He had 
 his child- 
 uie liours» 
 and lived 
 sant pur- 
 discharge 
 Iso duties 
 And as to 
 his afi'ec- 
 3n petted 
 ander her 
 reu from 
 ugh blast 
 aults had 
 lese their 
 i^rannioal 
 8 mother, 
 ffiminate 
 il earnest 
 JO jiotice 
 er. The 
 le to the 
 ler with 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 149 
 
 more affection than they had shown her on earth; 
 ^edeacl mother is more to them than the living one 
 w.s^ Shehersel sees all this and thanks the Lord 
 for His dispensation. At the beginning of her heavenly 
 life this was indeed difficult to he.. The pain of 
 reparation was still upon her countenance. V/he 
 she came here she wished to see her children jus 
 once more to take leave of them. She longed to hover 
 round their beds in the night season, to let her ye 
 i-est upon the sleepers, to listen to their breatli. She 
 «ow thinks and wishes better 
 
 whom yon also know, who were always looked upon 
 as sp Uy tried. Even human malice and delight 
 mt ^^ , sfortunes of others could not say why it 
 Should be visited The husband and wife are Ly. 
 
 ' ^^;;:S'^^^^;"^bf«-i^^«'i thoroughly pious and resped 
 able people. But they never have a happy day The 
 
 t^Z'^f^^r^ -ver cease, thfhusb'and 
 ease ha fails, people say he has no luck. They are 
 both geiierally pitied, and the patience and persever^ 
 ance ot the man. by which he is kept from despair 
 
 too aie astoaished at such an incomprehensible lot 
 l>at you do not see that many a youthful sin on his 
 P|m IS now thus fearfully avenging itself, and that 
 many coasequences of wanton folly, which, according 
 to God .. righteous government of the world, must en- 
 sue, eveu when the folly is repented aud dep.ored 
 
 Nor do you see into his heart. 
 
f; 'it 
 
 •50 LETTis^ FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 You do Dot !<.«>«. that his ways and doings are not 
 according to the will of God, that God would lead 
 him into other paths than those in which h.l 
 -.king, and has brought this hon-o fi.LV i:;, 
 v-thout number. Where he seeks earthly p"o„ X 
 he ought not to seek it. But the pride and obXa y 
 of h,s heart rebel. He will g„ his owu way and he 
 struggles with terrible exasperation to attain M end! 
 Ill spite of all previous iU-success ^0/^ t T ^ 
 ~ced God, or desires to hir „ot'h gt" l^ 
 
 oimsself.«,lI; he Ignores the third petition in the 
 I^rd sprayer. His is a noble but an inflexible spirU 
 
 e bin:r:rT'^ '" "^"-^ '"' ^-^^ 
 
 ,ri,.l., " ""' "^'f^' "ho depends with 
 
 Idolatrous veneration upon her husband, and who e 
 loveconhnns him in his obduracy, wi, be la^d 
 
 h^itr^''^""'^'"'"^'^- -»-■--;- . 
 
 Or are you thinking of that consumptive friend 
 of yours, the young man with the hectic colour who 
 
 arid ifhi'T "; '""■ ^■"' ^""^^ ^^^'^^ 
 excited m his friends innumerable hopes none of 
 
 -hich were to be fulfilled ? Certainly 'ou would 
 
 not wish to make God responsible if the^poisln of 
 
 ctr^frer'ta""" ^" '^ ^"^ •'"^"^' »'«^'""d 
 crime after passing over generations, collects in »„ 
 
 individual and destroys his life. Is 'tre" death fa 
 
 itsef altogether a misfortune, especially when the 
 
 soul has for years had notice to quit'^its eTrthfv 
 
 -dwelling and is thus daily reminded of it. befag ut 
 
v: 
 
 ngs are not 
 woiijd lead 
 '^ he is DOW 
 iiim times 
 ^ prospeiit}' 
 d obstinacy 
 ^ay, and he 
 in his ends 
 that he has 
 to do with 
 e minister 
 ion in the 
 ible spirit, 
 ut it will 
 iiid« with 
 nd whose 
 be saved 
 incompre- , 
 
 ve friend 
 lour, who 
 ^ed mind 
 , none of 
 >u would 
 )oison of 
 
 sin and 
 its in an 
 ieath in 
 hen the 
 
 earthly 
 eing un- 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 jjj 
 
 clotiied and clothed unon > R.i- 
 Hoae, who has known Mmoe'fT'''T.™ '^"' "^^"^ 
 destined to an earlv 1' r i'T " ^""'^ ^ ^^ 
 one Who ,oes ^^^^^^ '^ f « than 
 does not the mercifu V^r.^^mTTt- ^'''' 
 individual soul ? does H. .^ ^^"'^ ^o each 
 
 dant life, t. those a so foT r"^^'' ''''' '""' ^^"«- 
 not quite full/deJw t " '^^'^^y ^i^e does 
 
 1 would nolt:ZZX^^^ ^'"^'^"^^^ 
 must often be obscure T y u ^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^/^^^^ 
 ment. You are walkin. in IhT land . f IT '^'''^^' 
 
 ledge as you might derive from Hnl t '^' 
 
 earthly possessions aad o"„stll "J'7™'''" "^ 
 ending perhaps in a gentitT t aS Tn' ,""' 
 l.fe does not exist. Uis nu.ch coveted earth' * 
 
 penty. this very abundance of exTer, a-t '" *''"'" 
 becomes customary, and is not fe ' "'' '""" 
 It only glitters in the splendo„ of T, ^"''^'^'^' 
 tomed, to the enviou, eve, „f , i ^^ ■""""="»- 
 
 possessor it appea.sTn h! '"■ "''"^ ^» «>« 
 
 day life. The Ta o H ^'7 ^''"'"'"' "^ «™'y- 
 'hrough every mf\,t ^. TV'l ^^"^^ 
 
 •V-- iccso iiequeiitiy 
 
 / 
 
152 
 
 LEL TERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 seen at that lowest stage where men pass from one 
 sensual enjoyment to another, or misuse incessant 
 occupation to drown the voice of fhe inner man. 
 Therefore such a life is devoid also of all the higher 
 charms of earthly existence, and is as far removed 
 as the east is from the west from the ideal of a life 
 worthy of man. And how quickly old age comes ! 
 The old age of a (Christian is to be as his youth. 
 The old age of the unbelieving pines away in renun- 
 ciation, in self-imposed as well as forced renun- 
 ciation. The soul which is without God is solitary 
 and feels itself solitary, even in the midst of the 
 most lively society. It may perhaps seem easy to it 
 to depart, it has nothing to lose, nothing to hope, it 
 purposely hides from itself that it has anything to 
 fear. 
 
 'J. 
 
 
rom one 
 ncessant 
 er man. 
 e higher 
 removed 
 )f a life 
 
 comes ! 
 I youth. 
 1 renun- 
 
 renun- 
 solitaiy 
 
 of the 
 asy to it 
 hope, it 
 hing to 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 nPHE gi-eatgiilf which separates heaven and hell 
 A is impassable. It was not always so. For 
 once when the Saviour had preached to the spirits in 
 prison, He brought a great company of departed souls 
 with him to heaven. Heaven was indeed empty till 
 then, at least empty of the souls of the dead. Only 
 angels occupied it. Heaven and earth were then in 
 more active and closer connection than they now are, 
 because God's counsels for the redemption of the 
 human race were being fulfilled on earth. I shall 
 let one of the saints of the Old Testament tell you 
 about that first peopling of heaven. His nan-ative 
 is an excellent discourse on the mercy of God. 
 
 " All we who adhered to the hope of our nation for 
 u redeemer and a redemption, liad united ourselves 
 in a little band in the realm of the dead. No one 
 indeed is, before the judgment day, in a state of con- 
 summated condemnation. As yet the abyss of hell 
 is empty. Life in the realm of the dead is indeed 
 gloomy and barren, but for us who held fast to our 
 hope it was at all events endurable. Very much 
 depends upon what one brings to the realm of the 
 dead. For the earthly life is continued there. 
 , Whatever a man hoped, desired, and loved on earth, 
 he hopes, desires, and loves there. Only there is 
 this great diiference, that the empty, the vain, the 
 «inful is perceived to be so without its being possible 
 
154 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 :( 
 
 
 il": 
 
 to the soul to cease from it. What a man has become- 
 on earth he continues to be where there is no possi- 
 bility of reform. Satan lias as yet no power over 
 souls. Those however who will one day be in his 
 • power feel it already. We on the contrary firmly 
 hoped and believed that a time of release and de- 
 liverance would come for us. It was a time of wait- 
 ing, but our waiting was that of the bride who is 
 expecting the bridegrooiw and waiting for the day of 
 marriage ; while many were like condemned crimi- 
 nals, in hourly expectation of the announcement and 
 execution of their sentence. 
 
 Thus we saw millions who were in hell with us 
 contriving, though only after a shadowy fashion, 
 the empty and miserable life they had led on earth, 
 and tormented by the full consciousness of its misery. 
 We saw the voluptuous ever pursuing fresh phan- 
 toms of pleasure, never finding enjoyment, yet never 
 able to cease from this dismal pursuit. We saw the- 
 avaricious accumulate supposed treasures, of the 
 worthlessness of which they were nevertheless con- 
 scious. We saw gamblers aimlessly exciting them- 
 selves to no purpose, winning and losing, only to 
 leave off witn the feeling of loss, and then to begin 
 afresh. We saw all the slaves of sin and passion 
 indulging in their lusts, drinking out of empty 
 goblets, and yet always drinking again because of 
 the consuming thirst that tortured them. They 
 knew and took part in all the amusements of earth,' 
 combined themselves in clubs and societies as in the- 
 world. Hell witnessed a caricature of life on earth„ 
 
IS become- 
 no possi" 
 3wer over 
 be in his 
 ly tirmly 
 e and de- 
 e of wait- 
 e who is 
 he day of 
 ed crimi-^ 
 raent and 
 
 with ns 
 
 fashion, 
 3n earth, 
 .s misery, 
 sh phan- 
 ^et never 
 i saw the- 
 
 of the 
 ^ess con- 
 ig them- 
 only ta 
 to begin 
 i passion 
 
 empty 
 3ausu of 
 They 
 )f earth, 
 IS in thfr 
 >n earth. 
 
 LET7ERS I'ROM HEA VEN. 155 
 
 only there was ,.„ smiles and no rest. For hell 
 knows no Sabbath. Dread of the Day of Judo,nen 
 -uld sumce to destroy peace, if it'existed. '^ It I^ 
 true that all have by no «eans an absolute certaintv 
 of a judgment to come, for doubt reigns in hell Ther; 
 bey doubt everything, even the fact of their bein-. h, 
 
 dserl T?'. '^r'^'^ present unspeaka^ble 
 
 rj'.r ; ''•^^'"'''' ""^ "^ '^"^- With some, 
 ndeed the deceptive liope prevail that it will not 
 l^st for ever, nay, that it will not last much llrr 
 
 on earth And these seek to prove in ever new 
 forms and with ever new arguments, that the present 
 shadowy hfe is only the dying echo of the eaX 
 de, the final vibrations of the bell, which must at 
 ast be silent. This wisdom indeed finds "ad 
 herents the echo lasts too long, and the vibrations 
 do not decrease in strength. Suicide would be 
 preached, if it were possible. "^ i oe 
 
 Such was the society in which we lived. Manv 
 indeed who were not of our race, but who had dc 
 paited from earth with hopes of a better world with 
 a consciousness of the corruption of human n'atur^ 
 '^nd just a dreamy presentient expectation of its re- 
 demption joined themselves to us and shared in our 
 hope. Many noble heathens who either had already 
 deeper and purer views of life, or at least knew 71 
 
 Tof !lV" ''' trr '"''^ "^^^ P^"^^^^' ^^-^d from 
 
 ended r T ^"f' '' ^'^ '^P^^ ''^^ -^^^^' -^"^J^ 
 ended to he redemption of the human race, and 
 
 waited with us. Tims wp fnrr...i . . '_ ' 
 
 ~ * '• •-■ --^ v-uiiipuuy or 
 
 / 
 
 J- 
 
 / 
 
t56 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 pious souls much derided and thoroughly hated by 
 the nuiltitude of tlie ungodly, but not persecuted. 
 •Our hope grew with eacli earthly century, just as 
 each earthly century enlar«^d our company. More 
 and more souls joined us, and strengthened our hope 
 hy what they could tell us of its ever increasing con- 
 firmation as it approached its fulfilment. Thus the 
 great day of deliverance drew on. We heard of the 
 Saviour's birth, one of the shepherds who had heard 
 the song of the angels came to us and announced 
 this messa<j:e : ' Behold, I bring you good tidings of 
 great joy, which' shall be unto all people.' Simeon 
 departed in peace, his eyes had seen the Saviour, and 
 we grew certain that our eyes t >o should see Him. 
 And now the time must be near, the time of waiting 
 must be coming to an end. We stood like our fathers, 
 when they came up o&t of Egypt, ready for our jour- 
 ney, ready to enter the land of rest for which our 
 «ouls were longing. We heard with reverent adora- 
 tion of our Lord's life on earth. His mighty power 
 extended even to the region (jf the dead. For Jaime's 
 daughter, who hai been only a short time with us, 
 and had told us of the great prophet in Israel, was 
 called back to earth to put on her body again. The 
 joung man of Nain, and Lazarus, the friend of the 
 Lord, dei)arted from us. The blessed hope of a resur- 
 rection dawned upon us — and now came the time 
 that He set His face to go to Jerusalem — the time of 
 His suffering. We felt that the kingdom of Satan 
 took a special part in the events taking place on 
 •earth, though its acencv was. as far as we were con- 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 157 
 
 ceiiied, liitldijii under a veil. We knew however 
 thus much, that Christ went to Jeiusaleni and wa& 
 betrayed.. Tlieii a dreadful form entered the region 
 of the dead, a rope round his tliroat, and with an 
 expression of despair terrible to even the inhabitants 
 of hell, who are so well acquainted with despair. It 
 was Judas Iscariot. Not tliat we learnetl anything 
 from him. He spoke to no one, but wandered about 
 hastily and restlessly, till he found one who was 
 enduring like misery. And i;ow the day of fieedom 
 and redemption appeared. Ve dwellers in heaven^ 
 what a day it was : He came to us, but not yet in 
 the body of His glory, in which we now know Him. 
 He desired only to be seen and known by those who 
 had an eye for Him. He came with pierced liands 
 and feet f:s the man of sorrows. The substance of 
 His preaching was : " It is finished." We, however^ 
 knew Him. It was just so that the prophets had 
 depicted Him. There was not one in our company 
 who did not recognise and join Him. And His word 
 reached to tlie millions by whom hell is [(^opled. 
 There was not one wlio did not hear it, and he had 
 many sheep who were His, though we knew nothing 
 of them, and who heard His voice. Many others 
 heard it not. He was derided and rejected as upon 
 earth. W^e, however, and His own followed Him, 
 Paths were opened where hitherti) there had been 
 none. Our way lay over l)ottomless depths. A light 
 appeared such as our eyes had not yet seen. It grew 
 brighter and brighter — and now wt? too experienced 
 what you did on your dyinu tlays, when the cates of 
 
 i.r 
 
«58 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 ■ U ■ 
 
 ^*i{" 
 
 
 I! 
 
 I'aradise were opened to you. The angels of God 
 now received us into the abodes of the blessed, the 
 thief from the cross approached us, Moses dnd Elias 
 greeted us, and soon we— as His first heavenly 
 Ohurch— received the risen and ascended Saviour 
 now wearing the body of His glory." 
 
 Such was the nanative of the saint of Israel con- 
 cerning that great time. lUit tell me, does not Scrip- 
 ture tell you the same? Will you not say, even in 
 the weakness of your earthly intellect, " Yes, it must 
 have been so." There was no hum.,11 soul vho lived 
 on earth before the birth of the Lord, to whom the 
 knowledn-e of Him, and with this knowledge the 
 great decision concerning Him, was not brought near. 
 And do you ask : " What of the millions and million.s 
 who have lived on earth since His ascension without 
 hearing of Him ? " Lay aside your anxiety concern- 
 ing them. He will cast none into hell who would 
 willingly have trusted in Him, if the opportunity had 
 been offered them. 
 
 The number of men wlio have lived, or are still 
 living on earth, is indeed a small one. Ho knows of 
 all, and is acquainted with them all. You ;.peak of 
 large numbers and of great masses who meantime 
 seem even terrible to you because you can take no 
 survey of the whole, and do not know the individuals. 
 To one who like God knows and loves each separate 
 soul, there may indeed be a multitude, but no masses. 
 
XX rv. 
 
 A^ angel wlio fiad hovered down with gentle 
 motion towards me. "Do you know me again ? it 
 wa« J who bore you t<i heaven." 
 
 I knew him agai t ancf rejoiced to see him. "Ah 
 what a hdppy, holj c nice i, committed to you. It- 
 men could but see i. k you mrround and watch over 
 them." 
 
 , " Blessed are tliey that Iiave Uur. seen, and yet 
 have believed." answered he. " We are not indeed 
 near to souls only at their departure. Are we not at 
 all times ministering spirits, sent forth to minister t(j 
 those who shall be heirs of salvation. ? We are the 
 messengers of God, and are continually descendin.r 
 to earth and ascending from it by His orders, as the 
 patriarch Jacob once saw in a dream." 
 
 " Then is it you alone," I asked, - who carry on 
 the communication between heaven and earth?" 
 
 "We alone; none travel earthy/.- Is from the 
 realm of %e departed without the express will of 
 Ood. ^The evil spirits, the angels of Satan, are 
 mdeed active upon earth, and oppose us as far as they 
 can." 
 
 '• Were they not once your brethren and created 
 for good ? " 
 
 ^ "Until they fell and severed themselves from us. 
 That was a micrht.v pvont- o«^ 
 
 J' 
 
 ■o- — J 
 
 ^..«.-x:i_ J 
 
 ""^-*- diVJiiiCU viiScioiirOllS 
 
i6o 
 
 LETIEjRS FROM'hEAVEN. 
 
 •|r 
 
 
 consequences. At a time prior to the earthly crea^ 
 tion we were all united before the throne of God, Do- 
 you ask of the origin of evil, and how it entered the 
 harmony of the heavenly life ? Enough that it did 
 this and with it separation and hell. And then came^ 
 tlie creation of the visible v/orld as men call it. At 
 the word of God the earthly world was called intO 
 existence. It was marvellous to behold how at His 
 word, ' Let there be Hght,' the dark masses were en- 
 lightened, the stars kindled, and light, dispensing life 
 and blessing, penetrated to immeasurable distances. 
 The earthly wor^d was fashioned to a lovely copy of 
 the heavenly, and man, the crown of creation, made 
 in our,nay, in God's image. We admired with reverent 
 adoration this work of God, a living soul in a body 
 formed of eaf th ! . How beautiful was the young 
 earth ! how beautiful in his purity the newly-created 
 man ! But sin came, and with it came the curse upon 
 the defiled earth and the gates of the earthly Paradise 
 were closed." 
 
 "And did your service for the rescue of fallen man- 
 kind now begin ? " asked I. 
 
 " A long work," he replied ; " it is harder to 
 restore than to destroy. You know from Holy 
 Scripture how frequently we interposed in the course 
 of human development, from the time when He 
 no longci held intercourse with man till we com- 
 forted at the tomb of the risen Saviour the mourn- 
 ing disciples, whom we s-ibsequently assisted in 
 their difficult work." 
 
 " Has not your ministry to mankind been latterly 
 
'thly ciea_ 
 f God. Do 
 itered the 
 lat it did 
 hen camfr 
 11 it. At 
 died in CO 
 iv at His 
 were en- 
 asing life 
 listances. 
 1 copy of 
 on, made 
 reverent 
 I a body 
 e young 
 ,^-created 
 irse upon 
 Paradise 
 
 len mau- 
 nder to 
 n Holy 
 ly course 
 hen He 
 /e com- 
 mourn- 
 sted in 
 
 latterly 
 
 LETIERS FROM HEAVEN. i6, 
 
 a different one ? In former times you were often 
 visible to men ; did that no longer occur afteiw 
 wards ? 
 
 "Does not mankind advance," answered he 
 ;' from century to century ? They are always talk-^ 
 trig oi progress. Does not a mother guide her 
 growing up child in quite another i .anner from 
 that in which she rules tlie little one ? The more^ 
 men were themselves in a condition to know the 
 will of God and the object of its ways-and they 
 had the complete Divine revelation— the less were 
 we permitted to interpose with warning and direc^ 
 tion. But now tonlay, as formerly, we still meet 
 when God's will appoints it, the poor in spirit and 
 those whom the living waters of God's revelation 
 of mercy have not yet reached." 
 
 " Then it is your liappy office to promote good and 
 prevent evil ?» ^ o ^u dua 
 
 " Say rather to turn evil into good. We know 
 only of sin, not of ill. If God were to prevent evil 
 human history would have come to an end We 
 deliver from undeserved suffering ; we strengthen 
 the souls of those who suffer for the trial and 
 confirmation of their faith; we turn aside the darts 
 ot the wicked from tliose whom, according to our 
 leather's will, they are not to wound." 
 " And do you not especially minister to children ?" 
 "Yes; they arfe the Saviour's darlings. We de- 
 light m children. They still bear about them some- 
 thing of the form of man as God designed him. 
 At the sight of them w^ nm iv.mi«,i.^^ ..« *u- n... 
 
 11 
 
, ).^ 
 
 162 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 > ' 
 
 I 
 
 if""' 
 
 it's 
 
 human pair, when they walked upon earth as yet 
 without sin. We indeed see also the unhappy germs, 
 of sin already shootinfi; forth from the hearts of 
 children ; there are even children in whom the 
 ill weeds of sin already liear buds and blossoms, 
 weeds whose seeds were transmitted from the 
 hearts of their parents, and which have been 
 cherished and reared." 
 
 " Yes, and yet it seems as if men discerned in 
 children the nearness of the angels ; I know of cases 
 in which the voice of God has spoken tixrough tiiem 
 to their elders." 
 
 " It is so indeec\. We have already brought many 
 a good word to grown men by the mouth of a child. 
 They are olten so much farther from us, thty are 
 themselves so wise !" 
 
 " Ah, how can man, who is a child of the dusi 
 and of time, be proud ? And yet 1 know of many 
 who have forfeited their eternal salvation through 
 pride alone." / 
 
 " Men are a strange race. How often d^ we watch 
 them ! How they tall into enor and folly, reprove 
 to-day as falsehood what they yescerday acknow- 
 ledged as truth, and are again and again trying to 
 reach the goal by hitherto untrodden paths, while 
 refusing only the path where the hand-post stands 
 and the ^ ddes are ready, Man is to investigate and 
 to acquire knowledge, it is one of his chief earthly 
 tasks ; but his knowledge is a creeping plant and 
 needs a support. Therefore God, from the beginning, 
 revealed Himself, and planted the trunk to which it 
 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 163 
 
 may cling. That trunk afterwards became the 
 Oross. Wwt human knowledge ao often crawls m 
 the ground like a creeper that has lost its way, it 
 attains indeed to luxuriance of shoots but never to 
 fruit, and the farther it creeps the more stunted it 
 ■becomes. Is it not— to speak in the language of 
 «arth, for in heaven the word does not exist—- 
 lidiculous to see a man sifting at his desk surrounded 
 by a chaos of books seekiag to fathoi^ the origin of 
 the world and to account for its existence, that world 
 of which only a small fraction is reflected in his 
 brain. We angels feel infinite compassion at seemg 
 a system created in which what does not suit its 
 composer is omitted, and what he has no experience 
 of denied, and which unbelieving thousands sloth- 
 fully applaud, and indeed the more loudly the more 
 indulgent it is to the flesh. The good name, .of 
 ^ Science ' has already often been made a laughing- 
 stock, ana the dwellers on earth need to be on their 
 guard against everyone who inscribes it on his 
 standard." 
 
 "But," replied I, "is not the impulse aftei know- 
 ledge innate in man ? And is it to be exclusively 
 religious knowledge ? " 
 
 " You are still speaking in the language of earth," 
 said the angel with gentle reproof. " What is there 
 in the created world which does not remind us of 
 <iod \ Look at the least of the works 6f His hands 
 on eartli, everywhere you meet with a genesis ; and 
 the cause of all genesis is ' mysterious to man and 
 supermundane. (Jare has been taken that man 
 
1 64 
 
 LEI TEH S FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 
 should have matter for investigation for niillenniuins,- 
 as yet he scarcely knows the little planet which is 
 his dwelling-place, as yet he has no understanding, 
 perhaps hardly a perception, of a thousand things 
 which take place at his feet." 
 
 " I was on earth," said I, " a woman who under- 
 stood bat little of the progress and results of 
 science." 
 
 '* You are none th . worse off in heaven for that,'" 
 answered he. " Sciei..e has eftiected much good, but 
 much which i^ infinitely foolish has also been 
 asserted in her fiame. There are indeed those whcv 
 teach others that the world was self-originated, 
 w^cording to laws existing as they say it. Do you 
 not feel the prodigious irony involved in these 
 words." 
 
 " It is the language of unbelief, which v^ill have 
 no Creator, because it will have no master. But can 
 there be any who continue faithful to their unbelief 
 to the end, even in the presence of death ? '^ 
 
 "This only happens when a gloomy despair and an 
 animosity, which men do not indeed always recognise,^ 
 take possession of the heart. On the other hand, I 
 have often been sent to the death-beds of men wiio 
 during their life had adhered with apparently sincere 
 conviction to^ the dogmas of unbelief, but who in 
 their last illness rejected them, as the mariner casts 
 out the ballast from the sinking vessel, and departed 
 in a happy and child like faith." 
 
 " Do you not then also see much that is goorl and 
 beautiful on earth?" 
 
LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 165 
 
 " i>o you think that the kingdom of God will fall 
 to rums? and is it not a delight to see it increase ? 
 We see much tJiat is good and beautiful, and much 
 too that human eyes ,do not see. And we have seen 
 It at a I times, for there are no dark ages on eartl,. 
 they all have their bright side also. Yes, we have 
 « also seen much that rejoiced us in heathenism, an.l 
 which will one day be brought to light, for th..^ 
 heathen also are God's children. Nay, at the time 
 when they in their blindness and folly made the ,>ods 
 ^o be men, they were nearer to the kingdom of God 
 timn they who have made men to be gods." 
 
 *' Do the inhabitants of earth do thil ? " asked I. 
 'Can It be that you know nothino- of it ? Mai 
 must have something that he holds sacred to which 
 fto may look up. He becomes as the brutes when he 
 •gives up the upward look. He who has lost his God 
 must put something else in His place. Every mortal 
 wi 1 have something he holds sacred. And if he does 
 not worship men, he puts a community in the place 
 o^ LToa. ihere are many men to wliom nothing but 
 their earthly native land is still sacred." 
 
 " I too loved my native land with my whol. aeart, 
 and I love it still," said I. 
 
 "But even in your native land you knew that you 
 belonged to the strangers and pilgrims. You knew 
 ■of a better country, and perhaps it was iust on that 
 account that you loved your native Ian i .he more 
 uearti y. But stay-an old man, to whose service I 
 am called, is just about to die. See. he lifts uo his 
 
 Hands <■" KI/-.00. u;^ n -t m, , *^ 
 
 „.. ..,^^- ,,,-j iiiiuiiy^ i:][i^ doctor Stands silently 
 
fV-f* 
 
 i66 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEK 
 
 
 at a distance. He now requests to heav t)H! LyHm : 
 *Jemsa^3m on high, my song and city is,' His chil- 
 dren comply with his request wbh ticBtbliug Vi>ice8 
 and weeping e} ?s. ' When shall I be, i*)/ God, with 
 Thee, and see Thr face '' ii gently uttered by his 
 quivering lips. A moment i»nd it will come to pjia.s . 
 we are coming. "Qvr, as for you, fai;'- well, you km a 
 him and rill soon see him ! " 
 
 1? 
 
 V - 
 
■) Uyiun : 
 His chil- 
 is Vs)ice8 
 >ocl, with 
 3 b> his 
 i to ;n!."a.s . 
 
 XXV. 
 
 ly/r Y letters do not take you to the presence, and 
 -LVX so to speak to the vision, of the Thrice 
 Holy,, It is true that I myself am drawing evor 
 nearer to Him, and that He is bestowing upon me 
 horn day to day, in ever richer abundance, that 
 which eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath 
 It entered into the heart of man to conceive The 
 knowledge of this does not penetrate to earth, but 
 blessed are Ihe pure in heart, for they shall see 
 Cxod And do not ask how His omnipresence, of * 
 which you on earth are also certain, is to be re- 
 , conciled with tlie fact that we behold Him. I too 
 am always certain, even without beholding Him, 
 of His sacred immediate neai-ness; 1 hear His 
 voice in a heart no longer seduced by the flesh I 
 inquire concerning His will, and nothing hinders 
 ane from actmg in conformity therewith ; He is all 
 in all. 
 
 And He in whom dwells all the fulness of the 
 Godhead bodily, and who yet walked on earth in 
 human form, whose holy image Scripture at every 
 page places before your eyes, He truly is in our 
 midst. It is'not a comfort only to the dwellers on 
 earth, but to the blessed also, to know the Lord as 
 their^ Brother, and to abide under the shadow of 
 x.i. .-iimigacy ana iiiercifui hand. He is present for 
 each wiio dwells in the great hou,se of the Father ; 
 
 .1': 
 
t68 
 
 LETTERS I^ROM HEA PEN. 
 
 vr 
 
 \ 
 
 He takes care of each soul, as tlie gardener does of 
 his trees, and He works and acts in heaven as the 
 Evangelists describe Him to liave worked and acted 
 on earth. He works miracles here abo ; nay, the 
 miracles He wrought on earth were but patterns of 
 His heavenly agency, rays of light which iell upon 
 ■our earthly darkness, and were designed to excite a 
 longing for the kingdom of light. He still opens 
 eyes and ears, He lieals all diseases, He feeds us, as 
 He did His contemporfines, with His word, and will 
 one day feed us again bodily, -when we shall drink 
 with Him of the, fruit of the vine. Only He has 
 no longer enemies in heaven, and the time when 
 He will raise the dead is not yet coilie. 
 
 See, He is passing by. All souls turn towards 
 Him. Without words, His look speaks. Streams 
 of blessing tiow from his upraised hands. John. is 
 with Him, the first who quite understood Him 
 when he wrote : " In the beginning was the Word, 
 .and the Word was with God, and the Word was 
 God." He wears the form oi an old man m which 
 he took leave on earth of his little children ; but 
 old men on earth do not look thus, for the youthful 
 appearance that men are wont to depict him with 
 also suits him. It is strange, but a certain timidity 
 hinders me from approaching him and the disciples 
 — a timidity which I do not feel in the presence of 
 the Saviour. He is so far above me, ke saw farther 
 into the mystery of the Divine nature, almost two 
 earthly millenniums ago, than I do now. And yet 
 there is no reason for this timidity ; we arc all 
 brethern in our Father's house. 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 169 
 
 does of 
 
 It is a work of love wliich the Saviour is come to 
 perform. His ways, and those on which He sends 
 His messengers, are simply ways of love. They 
 have brought up from earth tlie soul of a youth, an 
 idiot from his birth. The augels do not depart 
 from him, they stand round him, and their eyes 
 seek the Saviour. The youth looks like one 
 dreaming, a smile, such as he never had on earth, 
 passes over his poor imbecile face. And have the- 
 angels brouglit him to heaven, him who did not 
 believe ? Yes, him whom Jesus loved, nay, whom 
 He specially loved, and was expecting. They bring 
 him to the Lord, as on earth men brought the 
 •deaf mute to Him, He lays His hands upon his 
 head. Then the slumbering soul awakes ; streams 
 of life thrill through his body, his eyes see clearly. 
 It is like a new creation ; thus may it have been 
 when the first man became a living soul. The 
 Saviour delivers him again to the angels, who go 
 with him. The man who has been healed as yet 
 ^ays nothing, he only listens, but he takes in all he 
 is told. 
 
 Then an aged man presses through the hosts of the 
 blessed, and hastens to the restored one. He presses 
 him to his heart, he caresses him : " My son, my sou,'* 
 he cries in siipplicating tone. But the healed man 
 looks at him cheerfully, but like a stranger. He 
 knows him no more than all else that he meets with. 
 Then a mark of inexpressible pain, such as one is 
 not accustomed to behold i^ heaven, passes over the 
 >counten.- ^ of the aged man. He rushes to the 
 
m"- 
 
 170 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 %X 
 
 
 
 sMr 
 
 '^t 
 
 |:- 
 
 lord's f' . .; iviour," he cries, 'alas that un- 
 happy ho"> oi ^uilt — the poor child ! " He said not- 
 hing \ lore, but the Saviour lifted him up and said •* 
 " I atoned for heavier guilt on the cross, go in peace, 
 thy faith hath saved thee." We were silently remem- 
 bering the words al ui, Uie diiiS of 'he fathers being 
 visited upon the children. 
 
 The tongue of the restored was soon loosened. It 
 was wonderful to see how (juickly he learned. " I 
 am," he said, " like one who is conscious that some 
 great happiness ,is bestow.<?d upon him." And the 
 angels said, " Saved." " I am saved," repeated he 
 " Pnd for ever " added they. " j?ut where was I ? " 
 continued he, " and wl }' am I come here only now ? 
 or have I not exis A at all ?" Then the anj.. taught 
 him as one teaches a child. They explained to hini 
 the mysteries of the kingdom of God, and he took in. 
 their words as a thirsty man does a draught of fresh 
 water. He rejoiced when they told him of ti/ ever- 
 lasting mercy of God and of the value of a huraaiL 
 soul. Only to a soul 1 at breathes the atmosphere of 
 heaven . sucii an acct. o of joy us he then experienced 
 possible. 
 
 I thou['' .; -n this occa^^ion of t] .j indifference with 
 which men received the preaching o^ eve. las. in" 
 mercy, because they ha^- ,u often listened f.o it, and 
 because they have own accustomed to the promise- 
 of salvation. 
 
 Meantime thehe .^enl) choirs had gathered around 
 us and were singing of the mercy of God and of the 
 Saviour. The bells of our cathedral fell in liarmon- 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 171 
 
 J that un- 
 e said not- 
 and said " 
 ) in peace, 
 :ly remem- 
 lers being 
 
 sened. It 
 irried. " 1 
 that sornr 
 
 And the 
 jeated he 
 
 wab I?" 
 )nly now ? 
 ,.'.- taught 
 5d to him 
 lie took iii. 
 t of fresh 
 ■ ti.', ever- 
 
 a human, 
 ^sphere of 
 iperienced 
 
 ence with 
 vBi lasting 
 to it, and 
 e promise- 
 
 3d around 
 
 nd of the 
 
 harmon- 
 
 iously, the sounds of the organ reached us from its 
 h.fty aisles, and all we who had been witnesses of 
 this occurence crowded into the church to worsliip. 
 We only worshipped and sang praises, no one preached 
 to-day — we iiad seen a sign. 
 
 Then 1 said to your fatlier, who had .joined me at 
 the door: " Alas : how many like him are over tliere, 
 where the heavenly light does not shine. Many' 
 whose eyes have been holden that they could not se& 
 His glory, who have b. . a plunged into the misery of 
 unbelief by the fault of others, maniacs who awake 
 to consciousness in the land of terror. Would that 
 everlasting mercy would pierce beyond the great <mlf^ 
 and a great flock surround the Shepherd ! " " *^ 
 
 Thus I spoke, but he answered with solemnity : 
 "Till the last .judgment, hell is a place of waiting. 
 Eternal love turns away from none who do not turn 
 !way from it. But lay aside these thoughts. Would 
 . you vish to have a mercy without justice, nay, is- 
 the, i,ny mercy without it \ Have you not already 
 read on earth that an eternal, though to you perhaps 
 an incomprehensible, enactment of God i»avs : " He 
 that believeth shall be saved, but he that believeth 
 not shall be condemn' ( I." 
 
 An augd, who o\ erheard our conversati^ i, < ^d 
 significantly to me : " God still governs the wc \X and 
 His is the kingdom for ever. Lay aside what is still 
 of earth vhere men so desire to fathom that which 
 is, and is to remain, secret, till that day shall reveal 
 it, where they would fain make the final decision 
 dependent upon their own standard., or even on their 
 
 nwn fool 1 1 . t»Q ** 
 ■■"" "o'"- 
 
 Thus did he instruct me, and my soul was silenced 
 and calm. 
 
 / 
 
XXVI. 
 
 t 
 
 T OtVTFN" see you still, as you sit tired in your 
 J- easy chair ou a Sunday eveuiu",'. Vou used to 
 look back at the work of the past day, and that not 
 without pleasure. You often used to say that at 
 least a little was attained l)y your labours, even 
 though much of tiie seed sown should have fallen 
 by the way-side. And that what was attained was 
 of eternal value. It is tlie happy advantage of your 
 calling, to be 'allowed to do woik for Heaven. 
 What so many can only do outside the work of their 
 ■callino- you can do in it. And yet there is no call- 
 ing on earth which might not be fultilled according 
 to the mind of Christ: none in which the Christian 
 heart of him who fills it might not assert itself. And 
 even if this were not the case, mankind would still 
 have to be thankful for work, because it is a bulwark 
 against so much evil. It is a poor life which is 
 passed witho\it a vocation and without work, and it 
 is a beneficent arrangement of Divine Providence 
 that but very few are at any time in a position to be 
 able to dream away their life. Kven by such, much 
 is done which they indeed call work, but which is 
 m reality only amusement. In heaven we look for- 
 ward to eternity, and no one speaks of amusement. 
 •On earth you have such a short succession of years 
 before you, and yet you are seeking for means to 
 while away this brief space of time, and make it 
 
id in vour 
 
 V 
 
 u used to 
 I tliat not 
 y that at 
 Lir.s, even 
 Lvc fallen 
 iiined was 
 ;e of your 
 ' Heaven, 
 k of their 
 
 no call- 
 accotdin'' 
 Christian 
 2lf. And 
 ould still 
 I bulwark 
 which is 
 'k, and it 
 ■ovidehce 
 ion to be 
 ih, much 
 which is 
 look for- 
 usement. 
 of years 
 means to 
 
 make it 
 
 / £ TTEkS FROM HE A VEIST. , ^^ 
 
 appear shorter.' Time passes without assistance. 
 On earth people read to pass time, how often without 
 h^arning or acquirin- anything, nay, even without 
 recreation. They read to forget themselves, and the 
 duties they will not acknowledge to be such ; or to 
 Kill numi, that pliantom by which empty hearts are 
 haunted. Or they enjoy their wealth, in other wor.ls 
 tliey spend their life in reckoning up their posses- 
 sions, in seeking to increase them and in resisting 
 such efforts as might prevent their quiet possession 
 of them. They io(.k upon the protection of ca])ital 
 as the problem of the moral [system of the world, 
 and everything else as secondary. Thus the heart 
 l»ecomes a desert, it grows hard and insusceptible, 
 and the life is empty and barren. Then they resort 
 to drinking to transport themselves artificially into 
 on illusory prosperity. The spirit of wine or beer is 
 to give substance to life, and to conceal its poverty 
 Then tiie empty chatter which this Spirit begets 
 with its phrases and cant, which have no points of 
 contact with either a Christian or a rational life, 
 takes the place of true wisdom. 
 • My own sex is still worse ott' when it is self-con- 
 demned to an unemployed life. There are girls 
 whose minds, taken captive by reading, are strangers 
 to actual life. Their life is chiefly one of emotion, 
 their understanding and will are torpid, With some 
 an extensive correspondence takes the name of work ; 
 plentiful effusions of feeling are indulged in, and the 
 paltry contents of theii inner life, which cannot but ' 
 j'C weak, because deprived of its proper nourishment. 
 
174 
 
 LETTERS EROM HE A VEN, 
 
 r 1 
 
 
 
 J IS" 
 
 are squeezed to the last drop. T have often seen the 
 want of a calling lead to an actual worship of parents 
 iand family. You know how happy and aifectionate 
 was our family life, and how hearty was our mutual 
 •love. But life and filial piety were not for you, and 
 ought not to have been, identical terms. Nor does 
 heaven exist for the sole purpose of reuniting parents 
 •and children. 
 
 I knew on earth a cleroy man's daughter, an only 
 -child, who lived alone with her father and an old 
 servant, for her mother died early. Her father was 
 '.the sole object of her affection ; she was by no means 
 handsome, and no suitor had knocked at the parson- 
 age door. Nor did she want one, for had she not 
 her excellent father? But he died, ^.nd she was 
 obliged to Itjave the house. She then hired a small 
 (room in the village, with a view of the church and 
 churchyard. She did not want to see the parsonage 
 ihouse again, for the new clergyman had made many 
 alterations, he had even made another room the study. 
 Indeed she did not want to know anything of him who 
 was trying to replace her father,whose loss was indeed 
 irreparable. She had no need to work for her living, 
 so she rummaged day after day among her father's 
 -papers, put them in order agaii^ and again, and con- 
 .templated with sorrow the memorials of past days. 
 When the bells rang for-tlie second time on Sundays 
 she used to open the old closet in the corner of the 
 .room. There hung her father's gown aiid cap. It 
 .had been her office, even as a child, to take her 
 lather's official dress to him, and she would not leave 
 
 ■ M. 
 
 m 
 
seen the 
 f parents 
 lectionate 
 r mutual 
 you, and 
 ^or does 
 5 parents 
 
 ', an only 
 d ail old 
 Lther was 
 10 moans 
 3 parson- 
 she not 
 she was 
 i a small 
 irch and 
 arsonage 
 de many 
 lie study, 
 him who 
 IS indeed 
 er living, 
 
 : father's 
 
 « 
 
 ind con- 
 ,8t days. 
 Sundays 
 iv of the 
 cap. It 
 take her 
 lot leave 
 
 LETTERS- FROM HEAVEN. 175 
 
 •off now, that he could no longer put it on. So now 
 also she every Sunday spread out the gown upon the 
 easy chair, and laid the cap with the bands beside it 
 upon the chair. Then she would stand and contem- 
 plate all these things, and the image of her father, 
 as he used to look on Sunday, when he always 
 ^appeaied to her a special object of veneration, would 
 rise vividly before her mind. And when the bells 
 left off she would cake one of her father's manuscript 
 sermons and read it devoutly through, for her own 
 edification. I wonder whether she is still alive. 
 
 On earth I often found even the religious senti- 
 ment made an object of trilling and dreaming. 
 There is a longing for heaven in which true faith 
 has but very little share. It is on the contrary, 
 nothing more than the delusive other side of giving 
 'up hope of earthly prosperity. But heaven is not'] 
 -apart from otlier considerations, an asylum for those 
 who have suffered shipwreck on earth, and it is a 
 sad abuse of the Saviour's words, " Blessed are they 
 that mourn, for they shall be comforted," to suppose 
 that nothing is needed but the experience of earthly 
 sorrow, actual or imagined, incurred through our 
 own fault or inflicted by others, to entitle us to re- 
 joice in heavenly comfort. " Do you not under- 
 sto.id," says, if I am not mistaken, a German author, 
 " that it is easier to feel enthusiastically than to act 
 rightly."^ To which I add that it is easier to act 
 rightly, than truly to believe and to prove your faith 
 by love. For there are so-called right acts which 
 • ar«3 of very doubtful, value. And yet it is better to 
 
 
176 
 
 LET7ERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 h 
 
 
 
 act than to talk of acting. I know ladies who talk 
 much of, and show an interest in, all works designed 
 , for the benefit of suffering humanity, who in com- 
 mittees will condescend to the depths of poverty,, 
 and will yet coldly draw back their hand when a 
 child of the people would otter its cordial greeting. 
 I have known the welfare of the serving class ijeal- 
 ously cared for by sonie who treated their own 
 domestics with that cutting and cool severity, 
 which is regarded as specially adapted to the 
 poor. 
 
 It is, I hope, impossible for you to misunderstand 
 me. You krtow best that I am very far from think- 
 ing that men should forget heaven in their care for 
 earth. I know also of a true and genuine lonmn" 
 for heaven, and rejoice that it is satisfied in the land 
 of eternal rest. I know how the work of life 
 wearies, and how in the burden and heat of the day 
 the wish will arise in the heart: Would that I were 
 at home ! " Blessed are they that feel home-sick- 
 ness, for they shall go home," was written in my 
 album by a dear old man now among the blessed. 
 I too knew this hoine-sickness, and felt happy when 
 a glimpse of the battlements of ihe city of God, 
 shining at a distance, was vouchsafed to me. For 
 they do shine even as far as earth to the eye of faith. 
 It is folly to say that on earth one knows nothing of 
 heaven. • You know enough of it to rejoice by antici- 
 pation. When you are about to change your place 
 of abode on enrth, and are purposing to dwell in 
 some town, in which indeed you have never been. 
 
who talk 
 designed 
 
 in corn- 
 poverty,. 
 . when a 
 greeting, 
 ass zeal- 
 leir own 
 severity, 
 
 to the 
 
 derstand 
 n think- 
 
 care for 
 
 longing 
 the land 
 : of life 
 
 the day 
 ,t I were 
 nie-sick- 
 i in my 
 
 blessed, 
 py when 
 of God, 
 le. For 
 of faitli . 
 thing of 
 J antici- 
 ir place 
 [well in 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEl^, 17^ 
 
 but concerning whose situation and circumstances 
 you have obtained trustworthy information, frorti 
 which too a messenger has come to you and has im 
 parted to you all that you need to know, to live 
 happily in it, do you really know nothing of the 
 tosvn . Those who really know nothing of heaven 
 are such as invent, as it were, a heaven of their 
 own, and conceive of the abode of the blessed so as 
 to suit their own inclinations and weaknesses 
 
 It IS our supreme happiness that we have ead/ 
 Jhs calling. We know for what we are here, and 
 why we are just what we are. And our work is 
 never in vain. Every seed that we sow germinates 
 ami springs up. Every remembrance of our past 
 life every look around us, every glance at the future 
 IS placed at the service of our holy work, which is 
 no one-sided one, but presupposes a full develop- 
 ment of our nature on all sides. We do not dream 
 but clearly and with waking senses grasp the full 
 reality, which is far better than the happiest dreun, 
 of oureartlily life was able to picture it 
 
 ^v 
 
 npcii 
 
 12 
 
'•'I 
 
 
 ft; 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A GIRL who has just passed through the gate of 
 Paradise enchains my attention. Her clothin*^^ 
 is in disorder and much torn, her hair is hanging; 
 unbound and tangied,her countenance bears the traces 
 of a hard death-struggle. She notices my interest 
 in her and asks me: " Am I really in heaven;"' 
 l?ut before 1 can reply, she continues, with joyous 
 excitement. "But why do I ask ? yes, I anl in hea- 
 ven, blessed be God." 
 
 No one approached to welcome her. As she was 
 still young, perhaps all her relations were still alive. 
 1 took her hand and made her tell me her history. 
 She had been drowned at sea, the ship in which she 
 was tidvelling had been wrecked in its passage from 
 England to Germany. But you shall hear what she 
 said. 
 
 " I was brought up- in wealth and luxury, my 
 father \a8 a merchant and made a great deal of 
 money. Every wish was granted to me and ray sis- 
 ters, neither my father nor my mother could refuse 
 us anything. Such was the manner in which the 
 years of my childhood were passed. Shortly before 
 miy confirmation day a report reached our house, that 
 my father had committed suicide to avoid encounter- 
 ing the outbreak of a large bankruptcy. We chil- 
 dren were able to bear this with composure, our 
 father liad troubled himseJ f butlittle about us audhad» 
 
le gate of 
 clothin«r 
 
 hanging; 
 ;he tracevS 
 
 interest 
 leaven !' " 
 h joyous 
 il in Ilea- 
 
 she was 
 till alive, 
 r history, 
 t-hich she 
 lage from 
 what she 
 
 Kury, my 
 t deal of 
 d ray sis- 
 ild refuse 
 k^hich the 
 tly before 
 ouse, that 
 ncounter- 
 We chil- 
 >,s«re, our 
 sandhaii, 
 
 I E TTERS FROM HE A VEJST. 179 
 
 as he said, lived only for his business. Our sorrow 
 began when we understood that we were yondenined 
 to grinding poverty. There was .scarcely enough left 
 for my mother to nriintain herself and her three 
 children in the humblest manner, besides which she 
 i'ell ill in consequence of the sliock an.i of anxieties 
 to which she was unaccustomeil. The necessity for 
 ■me to earn my own living now because apparent. 
 ■Long consultations were held as to the manner. My 
 guardian made various proposals, but my mother 
 insisted that I must be provided with something 
 -suitable to my position; she would willingly suffer 
 any privation to make this feasible. In this view 
 the vocation of a teacher seemed the most expedient 
 and a period of hard work began. I undertook it 
 •willingly, for I was^wise enough to see that work was 
 to be my lot for the future. I therefore went on 
 -learning and learning day and night. An elderly 
 lady gave me advice and told me what matters I had 
 to master in order to pass the examination; Ireceiv- 
 -ed instruction in the most important branches in 
 'the preparatory institution. But my heart had no 
 share in what I learnt, I even went through the 
 -jourse of religious instruction without feeling any 
 ■interest in it; it was just so much material for the 
 examination, and I took it in often with ter.rs, self- 
 denial, and self-torture." 
 
 " Poor girl f " interrupted I, ** work without love is 
 
 slavery." 
 
 '• Ah, that comes tirst," said she with a sigh, and 
 then continued : " I got throut>:h thn examination : it 
 
i8o 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEIsI. 
 
 ICr 
 
 ii 
 
 ■M 
 
 ;.'(• 
 
 was .'iaid that I bad but little gift for teaching, but 
 that my thorough knowledge would compensate for 
 this deficiency. I had myself never put what gift I 
 might have totbo test,but when I now entered upon 
 the office of teacher I perceived that I had no pleasure 
 in teaching. My work after the examination was just 
 as disagreeable to me as before it. A strict director 
 supervised my proceedings, I had to work almost 
 incessantly, and I never took deligbt in it. I agreed 
 with my mother that I should give up my ai'point- 
 ment and go to England. A so-called tiiorough know- 
 ledge of the English language was to be thv raapic 
 wand with which 1' was to earn money, or at least 
 procure a more endurable lot,than in Uermany. What 
 I underwent in England I will not tell you, it is too 
 sad. If I were on earth I would tell ii as a warning 
 to others." 
 
 " I see how wounded your heart is," said I ; " but 
 be at peace, the Lord will heal it." 
 
 " After a year I resolved to return to Germany. I 
 was standing solitary and poor on the port. I had 
 gone through temptations and trials which are perilous 
 and dreadful for a young girl, I had endured many 
 humiliations, I had earned nothing, but 1 knew Eng- 
 lish ! The ship started. I lay down in the evening 
 with the joyful hope tbat I should to-morrow morn- 
 ing breathe my native air. 1 was aroused fioni sleep 
 by an awful crash and roar, by cries and lamentations. 
 I know not how I got on deck, I only know that 
 the raging storm was howling round nje, that the 
 waves were breaking over the sinking ship, and that 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 i8i 
 
 but 
 
 many 
 
 I was clinging convulsively to a piece of the broken 
 mast. What happened to others, and how they 
 fared, I know not, foi- 1 lost consciousness. When I 
 recovered, the tnast, to which I was clinging, was 
 floating on the water. I did not cry for help, no one 
 would have heard me, I did not look around for 
 •deliverance in the stormy night, I could see nothing. 
 I knew that I must die. Die and appear before God i 
 It was awful. I knew all that Christianity teaches 
 of God, of heaven, of salvation—and yet I knew not- ' 
 hing. I had so often taught it, and had yet never 
 thought of my soul. I could not even pray, often as 
 I had in my official position said prayers with the 
 children. A terrible struggle took place in ray soul, 
 hke that of a body buried alive and striding to force 
 its way towards ligiit and air. Then the little evening 
 prayer of my childhood, which my nurse taught me 
 ■to say when slie put me to bed. 'O God, make me a 
 .good child, and take me to heaven when I die,' struck 
 me, and I prayed it again and again— I could do 
 nothing else. But the prayer expanded, the sins of 
 my youth came before my mi id, and that as sins,and 
 <Jhri.8t on the cross, of whom i had talked so much, 
 bift whom I did not yet know, became real to my 
 heart. I saw His arms stretched out towards me. His 
 never failing eye looked at me— me the poor lost one,a 
 feeling went through my heart like the freshness of 
 spring, like recovery from illness, and the stream of 
 piayer flowed forth with ever increasing freedom, 
 angels descended, 1 felt it, to be near my depicting 
 
 ore ngiii, my body 
 
 soul. Alv ai'ni« (Trour Tn/-»».o ««.-l .» _:„jj l _ j 
 
 
 
 '*-"*■ •* 5iii\X *«*\ 
 
 <*'i> 
 
l82 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 ^1 
 
 1-1 r* 
 
 
 i*- 
 
 colder, and colder the night ever darker and the storm 
 more violent. But a lovely bright light dawned upou) 
 my inner sight, I soon felt myself sinking back, deeper 
 and deeper, but I still remained within sight of the- 
 light which was shining upon my soul. So might a 
 child fall asleep in its mother's arms in sight of the 
 Christmas-tree. If I were still alive on earth, I should 
 talk of the horrors and terror of that night — and 
 yet it was a liappy, delightful night." 
 
 The young girl was not quite so alone in heaven 
 as I had thought. For at the very be-jinning of her 
 story a woman of mature age had ajvproached, and 
 kept her eye upon *the girl, to whom she listened 
 with much interest, and who now recognised and 
 greeted her %vtth a cry of joy. It was the nurse of 
 her childhood. 
 
 She stroked her cheeks and said: 'Poor child! 
 how often have I thought of you and your sisters, 
 how much you have suffered ; only twenty, and such 
 marks of son-ow on your face ! But no, fortunate 
 child, how happily you have come home. What 
 infinite mercy the Ix)^ has shown you ■ " 
 
 "You taught me to pray," said the other, " you: 
 faithful soul." 
 
 " I often think of it," said the aged women, who 
 still in heaven found pleasure in relating, not what 
 she had done, but what had happened to those whom 
 .she loved. "Your mother did not hinder me ; she 
 Would often come of an evening i,nto the bed-room 
 when you were in bed. I think I see her now in her 
 
 'Un'r>/1ci/-m^<\ aWXr iXvaatitm aw(\ \\Q'T diamOiid nrnnrniinfe 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN; 
 
 183 
 
 you: 
 
 ready to go to a party or ball ; she was but little at 
 iiome. She woui ' ,nostly fold her hands while you 
 were saying your prayers, and once, when you asked 
 me whether father and mother would go to heaven 
 too, I saw tears in her eyes. Your father was harder. 
 Once when he was present, and I was calling you to 
 prayer, he interrupted me, and said sharply, that he 
 did not approve, it, such things turned children's 
 heads. You, however, did not understand him, but 
 folded your hands and said your prayer. Then he 
 turned to the window and gently drummed on the 
 panes, and went away witliout saying another word. 
 Ah, how glad I am to have you again." 
 
 " Then teach me again, dear nurse ; you have more 
 than I." 
 
 "Ah," she said, " what a poor, poor life you have 
 behind you ! I heard your history— I also look at 
 your soul and see how poor it is. I was a poor ser- 
 vant and reached old age by many a painful step. 
 But I have never been as poor as you. I loved you 
 children, to whose service I was called, I prayed 
 not merely with but/w you. How should I without 
 this love, perseverance, and patience have had strength 
 for many a hardship ! And what were the children 
 which God committed to you, not for bodily, but for 
 mtellectual and moral training '' " 
 
 "Yes, reproach me," said the other; "you are 
 right. I never loveiiachild; they were just stock 
 in trade, nothing more. Ah, teach me, give me of 
 your wealth, that I may grow and increase. Let 
 me always be with yuu, liil my mother — perhaj)s — 
 comes." 
 
a 
 
 K: 
 
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 .•)i 
 
 184 
 
 LETIERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 "Not with me alone. You spoke of the look the 
 Criicitied cast on you in your dyin;^ hot r. Po you 
 not long to see Him face to face, the exalted Lord, 
 our Saviour?" 
 
 " See him?" cried she, with glad surprise. ' Yes, 
 take nie to Him." 
 
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 \ 
 
>ok the 
 >o you 
 I Lord, 
 
 ' Yes, 
 
 XXVI II, 
 
 A SOUL is making its entry into heaven amid ti)e 
 -^^^ hymns of the angels. Therefore it is the soul 
 of a sinner who has repented. W<; are indeed all 
 smners, but this mark of honor applies especially to 
 those who were on earth designate^' ^ )st and sin- 
 ners. It is a man still young,' he u . [ raying. It 
 was a long record of guilt, which C^hrist blotted out 
 before his departure. Few of the blessed k ,w him 
 but an inward voice— and in hea,ven inward voices 
 are intimations from God— says to me— Help him ! 
 I turn towards him and greet hiia with a welcome of 
 ipeace. 
 
 " Are you too," said he, " one of the pious women 
 who are so good to me ? I have not yet seen vour 
 face." "^ 
 
 " I am one of the blessed, saved like yourself." 
 " Am I then dead ? Yes, indeed, this is not earth. 
 I have never before seen such light. Am I then- 
 even I— to be saved ? " 
 
 " You are so already, or you would not be here. 
 But tell m<i, where did you die, and how ? " 
 
 '• In the hospital. Pious women in black garments 
 took care of me there. I do not know how they 
 •could do it One of them often prayed with me, she ' 
 was praying but just now ; it was so comforting to 
 -pray with her, I learnt from her to do the same. 
 But tell me, you who are one of the blessed, is there 
 
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 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
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 w 
 
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 s 
 
 
 such love in heaven also as I experienced there ? and' 
 why did such an one as I experience such love as no- 
 one else knows on earth ?" 
 
 " Do you ask it ? Do you not know the Savjour? " 
 " Yes, I know Him. He has saved me, but I have 
 known Him only a short time." 
 
 " Did you know nothing of Him before ? You were 
 surely baptized ?" 
 
 " I did not think that He cared about me." 
 " I will take you to Him, but first let me hear who 
 you are ?" 
 
 " The history of my life will be soon told. I was a 
 workman in a faqtory. I did the same monotonous, 
 work all my Hfe. I do not like to think of my child- 
 hood. My parents both worked in factories. They 
 were out all day, and I was left to myself. Even on 
 Sundays they were seldom at home. They lived on 
 good terms and took their pleasuxcs together. But 
 their pleasures and amusements were very many. I 
 and my little sister used to be huddled, either sleepy 
 or asleep, into the corner of the public-house where 
 my parents sought their diversion, often till far into 
 the night. No one cared about me, but I was used to 
 this. When it was not possible for them to take us 
 with them we were sent to an old woman, a neicfh- 
 hour, where we waited, and slept in our clothes till 
 our parents came to fetch us away towards morning. 
 I became a workman myself and married early. I 
 and my wife entered on the same course of life as 
 I had seen my parents do. We earned a good deal. 
 We had more than we required for the necessaries 
 
here ? and' 
 love as no 
 
 Savjour?"" 
 mt I liave 
 
 You were 
 
 e." 
 hear who- 
 
 1. I was a 
 onotonous, 
 my child- 
 es. They 
 
 Even on 
 ' lived on 
 her. F>ut 
 
 many. I 
 ler sleepy 
 ise where 
 1 far into 
 IS used to 
 o take us 
 , a nei<:rh- 
 iothes till 
 
 morning. 
 
 early. I 
 of life as 
 ;ood deal, 
 ecessaries 
 
 LETTERS I'ROM HEAVEN-. 187 
 
 of life. Then my wife's health failed, and we quickly 
 fell into poverty. We knew of no comfort and founll 
 no pity." 
 
 " Had you no faith ?', 
 
 " I never knew what faith was. I knew about (lod 
 and Christ, nay, I had from my school-time onward 
 a certain respect for the person of the KSaviour, but 
 ilid not know how He" was to help me." 
 
 " But was there no church where you lived ?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly, but only for great folks. I never 
 entered it. I should have felt ^ashamed before my 
 comrades. We had different teachers from those who 
 preach in church. They came to us. They spoke of 
 our poverty and promised us redress ; was it atrange 
 that we believed tliem ? We saw besides that many 
 of the prosperous, who were blessed with earthly 
 goods, did not concern themselves with church. Our 
 master himself never went to church; we knew, 
 though he did not think we knew, how he scoffed at 
 faith and the churcli, and yet he was a prosperous 
 man I Nevertheless [ should haveliked to go at least 
 once to the Lord's Supper.but I had a horror of con- 
 fession. I did not know what I ought to confess, I ■ 
 had no conviction of sin, I only knew of misery My 
 wife died, and after I had buried her, I turned my 
 back upon my native town. I could no longer endure 
 the vacancy and monotony of my existence. I went 
 to the capital, where I hoped to find something to 
 divert my thoughts. The sale of our last possessions, 
 there was little more than the bed on which my wife 
 
 died, brouirht rue son.io tnmnov 
 
 T J .1 •. . 
 
 X. Gij_uuiiuci-eu ic in 
 
1 88 
 
 LETTERS ^ROM HEAVEN. 
 
 the capital. I then began to l)e in want and tried to 
 get work, but could Hnrl none. :My clothing became 
 slovenly, I wandered about clay and night, and spent 
 in brandy the few pence which, by extreme caution, 
 1 managed to beg out of sight of the police. Then I 
 became ill. A fearful pain in the side tortured me. I 
 was one Sunr'.ay morning roaming jumlessly about, 
 when some one put a card into my hand to admit me 
 to a breakfast and devotional meeting in a neighbour- 
 ing house. I went for the sake of the breakfast, and 
 found hundreds there who probably come for the 
 same reason. After the breakfast, a clergyman got up 
 and spoke of the Good Samaritan, of the love and 
 mercy of God and of Christian charity. I had heard 
 of such things in my youth, but had forgotten them, 
 together with the tales then also told me. He spoke 
 also of the misery of sin and of repentance, and much 
 that he said was without doubt right. But were there 
 such things as love and mercy ? A few days ago I 
 had read in the newspapers that these repasts^the 
 bodily as well as the spiritual, were nothing else tiian 
 the enticements of those who wan )gain partisans. 
 They should not catch me ! And , ..—they had said 
 nothnig of this,— they had let ine go without hind- 
 rance. A great struggle was kindled in my soul, and 
 my whole frame was sk.-ken by fever. The bells were 
 ringing out of doors ; I felt impelled to enter the 
 church. For the first time since my confirmation 
 <hd I again tread the sacred fioor of a church. What 
 I heard was so beautiful, but again the thought 
 struck me : Pieachers must speak thus,they are paid 
 
nd tried to 
 ng became 
 >, and spent 
 16 caution, 
 e. Then I 
 ured me. I 
 sly about, 
 admit me 
 oeighbour- 
 ikfast, and 
 le for the 
 tian got up 
 
 love and 
 had heard 
 :ten them. 
 He spoke 
 and much 
 were there 
 ays ago I 
 jpasts, the 
 ; else than 
 partisans. 
 ^ had said 
 out hind- 
 soul, and 
 jells were 
 enter the 
 ifirmation 
 h. What 
 
 thought 
 r are paid 
 
 LETTERS FRVM HE A VEN. ^89 
 
 f.jr it. And the question. Is there love ? is ther- 
 mercy ? became more and more urgent. I was not 
 able to think nmcii more, for my sickness advanced 
 with giant strides. I sat down shivering on a bench 
 in front of the church whe'i the sernce was over fell 
 asleep, and awoke in a hospital. I was there under 
 the care of those dear women in black garments of 
 whom I told you. J did not ask them what induced 
 them to minister to me. It could be nothing but love 
 And now my inner life awoke. They did not speak 
 to me of repentance, but I spoke of it to myself and 
 longed for pardon. They were happy days that I 
 passed, notwithstanding the pain I had to suffer 
 boon nil was well, and my soul rested in the peace* 
 ot God. When I prayed it often seemed to me as if 
 tlie Saviour drew nearer and nearer-and once-the 
 nurse was then praying with me— He bent down to 
 my bed and said : ' (Jome ! ' Then I went.' 
 
 While we wore together praising (j'od for His 
 mercy, he continued : " Oh, why is the knowledge of 
 the lt)ving mercy of God so rare upon earth ? Why 
 have just the poor so little opportunity of kuowin- 
 the Divme mercy in its copy in human mercy ^^ 
 Millions of my poor brothers and sisters would find 
 safety and peace, h or be assured they do not believe 
 tliat there is such a thing as love on earth " 
 
 I replied, •' The work of God is not hidden under 
 a Imshel on earth. You might have heard of it It 
 was your own fault that you did not choose to see 
 and hear. And men have no means of forcing others 
 to see and iiear." 
 
190 
 
 LETTERS FJiOM HEA VEN. 
 
 \ 
 
 " Do not speak of nie," he answered, " my guilt is 
 clear before . my mind, and I must despair unless 
 Christ had borne it, I had my Bible from my 
 school-days onwards. It was my own fault that I 
 disregarded it. Many a time has God called me, 
 but I have not barkened. My pursuit of the in- 
 toxications the pleasure was my own fault. T . 
 think of my brothers and sisters," 
 
 " They will certainly be in the same position as 
 yourself," answered I. 
 
 But your father, who had witnessed our conversa- 
 tion, interposed and said to me : " It is just because 
 he has humbly confessed his own guilt, that he is 
 right in insisting on the guilt of others. If he had 
 spoken thus, while still walking in the flesh, without 
 being himself a penitent sinner, he would have 
 spoken unjustly. In heaven he may well speak 
 thus. It is indeed tlie curse of earth that guilt 
 begets guilt. And the world has many sins of 
 omission upon its conscience with regard to his 
 equals. The poor man, however full of envy and 
 hatred, readily takes the rich and those of higher 
 position as his examples. It is thus that thousands 
 of sins have penetrated from the upper to the lower 
 strata of the people. It was througn such example.^ 
 that they became discontented, pleasure seeking, and 
 ungodly. We are right wlien we tell liim that he 
 might have kept to God's word and the church, but 
 should we have kept to them ourselves, unless we 
 had been led to them and the bread of life had been 
 brought to us ? He found no love on earth. And 
 
N. 
 
 ' my guilt is 
 spair uuless 
 e from my 
 i fault that I 
 d called me, 
 t of the ill- 
 fault. T ■:. 
 
 \ position as 
 
 ur conversa- 
 just because 
 t, that he is 
 i. If he had 
 iesh, without 
 would have 
 well speak 
 li that guilt 
 lany sins of 
 gard to his 
 )f envy and 
 se of higher 
 it thousands 
 to the lower 
 oh example.^ 
 seeking, and 
 iiim that he 
 church, but 
 IS, unless we 
 ife had been 
 earth. And 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 191 
 
 •do the rays of loving mercy really penetrate into 
 •every recess of misery, into every stratum of human 
 beings, aliens indeed from God, but in the depths of 
 their hearts still thirsting for mercy ? And then how 
 many are those who despise the multitudes and give 
 expression to their contempt even with words full of 
 wisdom, as opposed to those who pity them ! The 
 fields are already white for harvest, and the 
 labourers so few." 
 
 Then we all lifted up our hands in prayer and 
 <lrew near to the Lord, and said : " Lord, send forth 
 labourers into Thy harvest." / 
 
XA'IX. 
 
 8*> 
 
 w 
 
 s . 
 
 A LTHOUGH souls in heaven live in undisturbe<{ 
 ^1. and continual hapijiness, hours of special joy 
 are neverthelt.ss sometimes granted them. I was 
 witness of one such, which your father was allowed 
 to experience, and desire to make you also ac- 
 quainted with it. It is already long ago since 
 he once preached on the happiness of salvation 
 through Jesus Christ. The text had given hint 
 occasion to compare the heavenly and the earthly 
 worlds. He spoke of care in the earthly, and 
 peace in the heavenly world. It often happened 
 in summer that he had hearers from town, people 
 who had perhaps made a party to visit the neigh- 
 bouring forest, and who, perhaps from curiosity, 
 or for the sake of a certain amount of Sunday 
 keeping, would visit our village church. They 
 would often stay through only a part of the sermon, 
 and we seldom caught sight of them, because the 
 entrance could not be seen from the pulpit and the 
 clergyman's seat. . 
 
 Some days after this sermon your father received 
 
 an anonymous letter from the town — you may 
 
 still find it among his papers — in which his serrao'u 
 
 was shaply criticized, though certainly in very 
 
 courteous terms. The writer was by no means a 
 
 scofier, he expressed himself somewhat as follows : 
 
 He had last Snndav heard with dp^n inrlirmQfir.t. 
 
 — — ^ ^. .,.„.,..,. 
 
mdistui'bed 
 special joy 
 tn. I was 
 is allowed 
 I also ac- 
 ago since 
 salvation 
 ?iven hint 
 le earthly 
 ^thly, and 
 happened 
 wn, people 
 ihe neigh- 
 curiosity, 
 'f Sunday 
 h. They 
 le sermon, 
 cause the 
 '> and the 
 
 received 
 
 you may 
 
 is sermon 
 
 in very 
 
 means a 
 
 follows : 
 
 fi 1 nr n Q f -I riri 
 ""■&"■■"-"-■'"" 
 
 LETTERS EROAf HE A VEN. , \^ 
 
 a teacher of the people venture t^ exhort to con- 
 tempt and depreciation of the world we live in It 
 was folly, to represent the happiness of enjoyinc. 
 life as ima;,nnary, and to rob people of the present 
 for the sake of a future which was unknown, and 
 which was no immediate object ol concern It 
 was not only effeminate weakness, but folly '• You 
 do not know life," he wrote; "you do not know 
 wh;it It means to draw a deep breath and act in the 
 full leehng of your own strength, nor what it means. " 
 to rejoice in the works of your own hand. You 
 embitter this joy to men when you make all that 
 ;^^ good and right and excellent depend upon the 
 inhoence of grace. You misconceive the import- 
 nnce ^^ value of earthly happiness, when you 
 require that the man of sound health should 
 renounce what perhaps the sick man must. You 
 darken life; till eternity dawns, all is to remain in 
 the twilight of expectation and hope, never are the 
 blight rays of gladness to shine ; nay, the hic^hest 
 earthly delight, that of happy absorption in °deep 
 and beautiful thought, is also taken from im, if only 
 the poor in spirit are to be blessed. It -is a 
 comfort to him," he added, <' that no one w )uld 
 believe everything the preacher said but that he 
 wrote because he had taken away with him the ■ 
 impression that the preacher had spoken from full 
 conviction." 
 
 Your father received the letter with a cheerful 
 
 smile, which might have ;astoni8hed many. They 
 
 '"^"^'^ ""^i'- "^* i«una ilia wiioie iiappi- 
 
194 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 iiess in faithful, unremitting labour, and could yet 
 at times be s<) cheerful and happy, could under- 
 stand it. " It is well," he said, " for us preachers to 
 be told sometimes from the other side, what our 
 sermons are thought of" Wh afterwards thought no 
 more of this letter. 
 
 A short time ago we were walking, after service, 
 with many friends who had been listening to your 
 father's preaching, when an old man approached him, 
 imknown by face to either of us. In heaven, however, 
 •we feel so near to each other, even if we have never 
 met, that he joined us and told your father that he 
 was the sender of that letter. He is now indeed 
 another man, an(^ would be incapable of writing such 
 a letter. But your father's time of joy began when 
 he spoke as follows : " I was a merchant, and was 
 then already in good circumstances. We had made a 
 large party to visit the forf.st, and when there we 
 agreed to breakfast in your village. In the hotel 
 there was no one but a maidservant, and this showed 
 us that we should have to await the return of the 
 master and mistress from church Ijefore our wants 
 could be attended to. Hence we resolved, in order 
 to pass the time, to go to church ourselves. It was 
 during the season before Whitsuntide. Your text 
 was : ' In the world ye shall have tribulation : but 
 be of good cheer , I have overcome the. world.' 1 
 called, and knew myself to be a man of the world, 
 and everything I then heard from you was entirely 
 opposed to my views. Your sermon nevertheless 
 made a deep impression upon me. As a man acquain- 
 
could yet 
 Id under- 
 eachers to 
 what our 
 bought no 
 
 ir service, 
 g to your 
 ached him, 
 , however, 
 ave never 
 ir that he 
 »w indeed 
 itiug such 
 igan when 
 t, and was 
 ad made a 
 tliere we 
 the hotel 
 is showed 
 urn of the 
 jur wants 
 t, in order 
 1. It was 
 Your text 
 ition : but 
 world.' 1 
 the world, 
 LS entirely 
 vertheless 
 J acquain- 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN 195 
 
 €d with humxu nature, you would perhaps have 
 noticed that the very reason for which I wrote to 
 you wa« to rnsist this impression. But from that 
 time was never again able to free myself from 
 thoughts of eternity; my principles and views 
 wavered. 1 turned to the Bible. You know how 
 .limcult ,t is to an unaccustomed hand to deal with 
 the Lible. I turned over the pages. I found the text 
 <m which you had preached, but did not understand 
 It. and what else I met with di,i not seom to suit iny 
 circumstances. But the impulse to think farther on 
 these questions continued urgent. X was, however 
 also unwilling to throw up/../ gospel without furthui' 
 consideration ; it might., I thought, be well defended 
 and ratioimally expounded. I had myself obtained 
 it-why sould I deny it-from a much read and 
 tamous novel, the name of which I have forgotten. 
 J^or novels and periodicals constituted the dk on 
 which I and such as I satisfied our appetite We 
 even at times thought we could study history by 
 means of novels. I resolved to visit the author of 
 this novel in the hope of receiving instruction from 
 urn. I was courteously received; perhaps heexpected 
 that I had called on him to flatter him, or to turn my 
 experience to literary account, hence he had put on 
 his intellectual Stu-^ay finery. He heard me explain 
 the object of my visit with the greatest astonish- 
 ment. '• He did not." he said, " in the first place 
 share all the views which he had put in the mouth 
 ot his heroes ; besides, religion was a private affair 
 nnd he desired to deprive no omp nf i.,o f-^.-.u » t 
 
196 
 
 LEI'IERS I-ROM I^IiAVEN. 
 
 U 
 
 replied that I lunl renlly no faitli, but tluit it wa» 
 difficult to me ^ny louj^'er to assent, witbout further 
 explanation to hip phih>8opby, of which I had hithertu 
 been a disciple, and that I wished for the removal of 
 n series of doubts whicli occurred to me. He replied 
 that this was rather a clergyman's business than his, 
 and the mere so that ray very doubts betruyeil u 
 decidedly reli<i;iou8 bias. He was, he said, an author^ 
 but, he added, with a shrug of his shoulders, a man 
 ot business also. Novels were wares which must be 
 adapted to the taste of the reading public. Besides, 
 he was employed upon another book, in which he 
 should represent the Christian theory of life with 
 the same objectivity. It was thus that he dismissed 
 
 me. 
 
 From foolish fear I did not go to a clergyman, 
 though the advice to do so was given from an im- 
 partial quarter. But I went more frequently to 
 church. The clergyman of the place I lived in was 
 always accustomed at the end of his sermon to re- 
 commend a chapter of the Bible, which had reference 
 to his sermon, for private reading. This was very 
 wseful to me. In this manner I became acquainted 
 with fhe Scriptures. As I drank, my thirst increased, 
 and I was thus gradually initiated into Christian 
 views. But I also attained to faith. My Christianity 
 «rrew slowly and almost imperceptibly, but cons- 
 tantly ; it was only after years had passed that I had 
 become another man, but I found support and com- 
 fort from my faith in the many heavy attiictious 
 which my God laid upon me. Now would have been 
 
 
it it M'a» 
 It further 
 1 liitlierti* 
 ?moval of 
 !e replied 
 than his, 
 etvuved h 
 m author^ 
 rs, H limn 
 I must be 
 Besides, 
 which he 
 life with 
 dismissed 
 
 lergyman, 
 Q an im- 
 iiently to 
 ;d in was 
 non to re- 
 1 reference 
 was very 
 icquainted 
 increased. 
 Christian 
 bristianity 
 but cons- 
 tliat I had 
 and com- 
 alllictions 
 have been 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEISr. 197 
 
 the rinjht time to come to you and thank you, but 
 you had meantime gone home in peace. 
 
 " Here too," said your father, " it ip a happiness to 
 know you ; but tell me more about 7 >:ir life." 
 
 " Xot without difficulty did I mana^'e to make ray 
 household a Christian household. It was especially 
 difficult to introduce the custom 3f asking a blessing 
 at meals, and my wife was astonished when I as- 
 «i^med a pin re of honour in our sitting-room to the 
 Bible. It is so hard to a man to lay aside a certain 
 amount of fear, which prevents his letting his 
 Christianity see daylight." 
 
 "In which," added your father, " a certain amount 
 of justifiable modesty, at laying bare the roots of 
 one's life, comes into play. I have never likea 
 people whose faitii was always on their lips. They 
 provoke unbelievers to search out their faults, a 
 search never without results." 
 
 " For my part," continued the otlier, " I had rather 
 '1 accuse myself of too great fear of man. I have 
 often omitted a confession at the right time, and 
 been silent when I oiight to have borne testimony. 
 But my wife too, soon found the Lord, and we 
 brought up our children in Christian seriousness. 
 We did not show them the lawful pleasures of the 
 world through iron gratings, a procedure which 
 generally excites a thirst after them. We introduced 
 them to them ourselves, but we guided them and held 
 them by the hand, and taught them to estimate them 
 aright. They are now— I had only daughters— 
 hanoilv marriftd Rnh T n^.r-^^ *^«,^ .j. _.. 
 
198 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 eternity. A yoiiug man wh-.-m I knew to be clever 
 and well-principled, but with whose attitude towards 
 Christianity I had not been able to make my&elf 
 acquainted, proposed for my eldest daughter, I took 
 him on the day of his proposal into my room alone 
 with me , saying that I had an important question 
 to put to him. He expected an enquiry concerning 
 his pecuniary circumstances. I however asked him, 
 "What do you think of eternity?" He stared at 
 me and stammered out, " I have — always — been con- 
 servative." I answered that I did not want to know 
 that, and repeated my question, " What do you think 
 of eternit} ? " He did not indeed give me a quite 
 satisfactory answer, but the question itself became 
 of importance to his life and to his marriage. He 
 would, I think, be now able to give an excellent 
 answer to it. 
 
 When he ceased, your father said to me with evi- 
 dent delight, how I am to-day thinking of the words^ 
 "He that goeth on his way weeping and beareth 
 precious seed, shall doubtless come again with joy, 
 and bring his sheaves with him." Truly this is not 
 the first sheaf my God has allowed me to bring 
 with joy. 
 
je clever 
 towards- 
 i my self 
 I took 
 im alone 
 qllestiol^ 
 nceriiinfj 
 :e(l him, 
 tared at 
 ieen con- 
 to know 
 ou think 
 a quite 
 became 
 je. He 
 ixcellent 
 
 ith evi- 
 le words, 
 beareth 
 nth joy, 
 is is not 
 :o bring 
 
 XXX. 
 
 A LL earthh- happiness, if one can speak of 
 .tX such, comes from its contrast to experience 
 Hunshine delight, us after rain, joy shines upon 
 the dark background of sorrow. Habitual pros- 
 perity is no longer felt to be such, nay, it may be 
 regarded with disgust through the consciousness 
 that it is incapable of enhancement. Heavenly^ 
 happiness needs none of these contrasts ; it aftbrcls 
 from itself the highest satisfaction, and is ever 
 capable of increase, ' never in need of it. And 
 if we wish to find enjoyment in contrast, the 
 remembrance of our past life offers opportunity 
 und matter enough : we compare our present with ~ 
 our former life. 
 
 The greatest difference between the two is in- 
 deed that there is no longer either death or decay. 
 We no longer see death making ever fresh gaps in 
 the ranks of our friends, and those nearest to us, 
 and thus beckoning to ourselves also with his 
 hour glass. We no longer observe with anxiety 
 and carefulness our death-devoted bodies, examin- 
 ing how far their capacity of enduring the toils and 
 hardships of life may have increased, or calculating, 
 it may be, the period during which we may reckon 
 on their services. We no longer mourn over a 
 wealth of blossoms destroyed during a night of 
 frost, we are no longer dismayed at threateninrr 
 
200 
 
 LETIERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 <ilou(ls which conceal in their depths dark niennces 
 as well as kindly promise. We no longer tremble 
 by night at the stealthy lurking of crime, nor fear 
 lest the prosperity of the individual should be 
 endangered by the increasing corruption of the 
 masses. 
 
 And then there is no more sin. I will show you 
 the results of this in only one aspect. Compare 
 the social life and intercourse of the blessed with 
 the conditions of earthly lile. It is such a happi- 
 ness to meet with truth everywhere. No one 
 conceals from me anything that is in his heart, 
 and that could be of interest to me; no one bends 
 before me who does not desire to show me respect ; 
 no friendly exterior conceals an angry mind and a 
 repugnant heart ; no excuses seek to throw arti- 
 ficially a better light upon what has been done- 
 What a pure atmosphere v;e breathe in heaven' 
 Jiow utterly free it is from the miasmas of falsehood 
 which poison the intercourse of the dwellers on 
 earth ! What a happy thing, what a cause for 
 gratitude, to find every one fi ^e from falsehood, and 
 especially oneself, without as on earth detecting one- 
 self at every step in some fresh and perhaps not 
 even intentional untruth. 
 
 And then remember, that we • live in continual 
 peace with each other, not the peace produced by 
 the exhaustion of the combatants or their mutual 
 fear, but in true and complete heart peace. In the 
 earthly life how men rub against each other with 
 
 trioir rliff(jt>oi»*-. ito^ni^i^o on/1 .UWit 
 
 
menaces 
 
 tremble 
 
 nor fear 
 
 lould be 
 
 ri of the 
 
 how you 
 Compare 
 5ecl with 
 a happi- 
 No one 
 is heart, 
 le bends 
 respect ; 
 i and a 
 ow arti- 
 3n done- 
 heaven' 
 alsehood 
 Hers on 
 ftuse for 
 ood, and 
 dug oue- 
 laps not 
 
 ontiniial 
 
 need by 
 
 mutual 
 
 In the 
 
 ler with 
 
 
 L E TTERS FROM HE A VEN. 201 
 
 :afraid :1. are of each other, how anxiously do they 
 keep on ^uard aj^minst wounding each other ! How 
 quickly does worldly wisdom change the open 
 nature of the youth into the cautious reserve, and 
 •alas ! often that distant coldness of the mature man 
 which is opposed to his own will, and to the will of 
 Ood. How much this worldly wisdom is esteemed 
 on earth ! It is true that the Lord has recommended 
 to us the wisdom of the serpent in combination with 
 the harmlessness of the dove. But the former is 
 prized and sought after where not a trace of this 
 combination can be discerned. He who is wise is 
 good. How many who have never earnestlv opposed 
 ■evil, never energetically taken in hand "anything 
 good, enjoy the world's approbation, simply because 
 they have been able by constant tacking and con- 
 tnuial change of sail to steer their vessels, and per- 
 haps those of others, round rocks ; while you, dear 
 and blessed friend, with your straightforward 
 honesty, with your restless energy and your self- 
 denying love liad to bear, so many reproaches and 
 apparently effected so little on earth. But the time 
 when such wisdom prevails is past. Here heavenly 
 wisdom reigns, there are no more serpents, nor that 
 wisdom of the serpent so indispensable for poor 
 earthly life. - 
 
 We do not, however, live in peace with our sur- 
 roundings ouly, we live at peace with God also, 
 because we are incapable of doing anything contrary 
 to His will. The voice of our heart is the voice of 
 •God. The voice of earthly hearts is so often differert 
 
 m 
 
202 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 from the voice of God. On earth it may indeed excite 
 admiration when a man is able to carry out ener- 
 getically and cpnsistently the will of his own hearty 
 and perhaps to make it a law to others also, whether 
 it is in accordance with the Divine will or not ; in 
 heaven sucli heroism is of no importance. Far more 
 is accorded to the ardent struggles of noble and 
 earnest souls, who desire to do the will of God, and 
 yet in a thousand cases do not know what the will of 
 God is. For thougli the word of God speaks j)lainly 
 and distinctly, the ear of sinful man no longer hears 
 clearly. It has been acknowledged with the deepest 
 sorrow by many earnest men, and even by such as 
 were not Christians, that sin casts a veil of error 
 about the head of^even those who have successfully 
 contended against it. Man errs not only as long as 
 he strives — he errs indeed also, and more readily,, 
 when he does not strive — but he errs even when he 
 thinks he is obeying. And how, when your conscience 
 bids you go two ways, that to the right hand as well 
 as that to the left, when an ancient, everlasting Divine 
 ordinance is in opposition to an earthly power, to. 
 which also you owe obedience ? Your father once 
 read to us on earth the Greek tragedy, Antigone. He 
 thought that the longing after Paradise, the abode of 
 peace,the place where contradictions of life are solved, 
 was nowhere more clearly and touchingly expressed. 
 The maiden has buried her skin brother, because a 
 Divine law requires that a sister should love and 
 honour a brother, but by so doing she has transgTessed 
 the command of the kino, who has the ^lower to fnr-= 
 
N. 
 
 indeed excite- 
 y out ener- 
 \ own heart, 
 ilso, whether 
 
 or not ; in 
 \ Far more 
 
 noble and 
 of God, and 
 it the will of 
 eaks plainly 
 longer hears 
 the deepest 
 by such as 
 eil of error 
 successfully 
 ' as long as 
 ore readily, 
 en when he 
 r conscience 
 land as well 
 iting Divine 
 y pc)wer, to- 
 father once 
 ntigone. He 
 :he abode of 
 3 are solved, 
 ' expressed, 
 c, because a 
 d love and 
 ;ransgressed 
 
 n\rov tri frxv- 
 
 LETTERS EROM HEAVEN, ' 205 
 
 bid the last honours to those who have fallen in battle- 
 against the city. Hence she has to die, because she. 
 has done what is right, and she departs with bitter 
 coniplaiuts against a world in wliich right-is wron- 
 Ihusdoes this tragedy give expression to the great dis- 
 (-ord which perN acles the world, which makes o-uilt 
 virtue, and virtue guilt, and which can only be 
 resolved for individuals and in individual cases by 
 <leparture from this world, by death. 
 
 Bat if you are perhaps thinking that in such cases- 
 It IS by no means questionable what the will of God 
 IS, remember, that the will of God requires also 
 obedience to human laws, and that cases often occur 
 111 which to your weak sight the finger of God seems, 
 to point to both the right hand and the left Wh'it 
 path are you to follow in the education of a refractoiv 
 and stubborn son ? Is severity or kindness suitable' 
 Where is the boundary between obstinacy and faith- 
 tulne^s, between concession and a cowardly compro- 
 mise? My son. it is just the curse of sin that you 
 stand in presence of such enigmas and suffer fron. 
 such contradictions. But as the grace of God can 
 turn every curse into a blessing, such experiences 
 should prove to you the emptiness of life and awaken 
 desires after the peace of eternity. Are then they 
 who perish by a tragic fate merely punished, or are- 
 t hey rfiot at the same time released and taken out of 
 the battle ? 
 
 I often see a pious inau who was a prince upon 
 earth, and who is now one of the lowliest among the 
 of lieaven. He was on earth depri^■eci 
 
 inlinKi^-r..-. « — 
 
\ 
 
 204 
 
 LETTERS EROM HEAVEN. 
 
 03 
 
 of his tlirone, tliough conscious of no fault which 
 should have been punished by such a lot. On earth 
 he stood up for his rights, though unsuccessfully. 
 He often tells me with a smile how many reckoned 
 his adherence to his right a crime, who would have 
 been the first to flatter him if his efforts had resulted 
 in the recovery of his throne. He now knows the 
 will of God, and looks with a single eye to another 
 throne, which is exalted above earthly tlirones, and 
 before which it is his happiness to stand in adora- 
 tion. 
 
 I know, too, a woman who was a nun upon earth, 
 ^he belonged to an order which was employed in the 
 instruction of young females. She entered the clois- 
 ter very early, and was very happy in her position 
 and duties. She embraced Christian doctrine in its 
 Roman Catholic form, and did not know what it was 
 to doubt. By means, however, of the relations 
 which were entered into between her cloister and 
 the secular authorities, and through the various 
 studies to which she devoted herself in the faithful 
 fulfilment of her calling, she became acquainted with 
 evangelical truth. Henceforth she became the sub- 
 ject of great struggles. She had vowed fidelity to 
 her cliurch, and she cherished great affection for her 
 superiors, who had shown her much kindness. Hence 
 a secession was as little possil)le as open opposition. 
 But still less could she close her heart against the 
 power of the gospel. On earth she never again 
 attained to inward peace. Now that she has learned 
 the one truth, she perceives these two things : that 
 tlie struggles of the last years of lier earthly life had 
 i\ most salutary influence upon her inner life, and 
 
 that. thn. ripjipp nf ofovnitv io ir»rLiorl o »^«^,,:«.,„ 
 
 ^ j^^t ,.^ ,., itiiti^tM CI |/it;uiuii,-3 iJU.ti" 
 
 session. 
 
L 
 
 "ault which 
 On earth 
 iccessfullv. 
 y reckoned 
 'ould have 
 id resulted 
 knows the 
 to another 
 irones, and 
 in adora- 
 
 ipon earth. 
 >yed in the 
 i ^he clois- 
 ir position 
 ;rine in its 
 
 I'hat it was 
 relations 
 oister and 
 le various 
 le faithful 
 iiited with 
 e the sub- 
 tidelity to 
 on for her 
 jss. Hence 
 opposition, 
 gainst the 
 sver again 
 las learned 
 ings : that 
 iy life had 
 r life, and 
 
 oiL?V40 
 
 ;uo" 
 
 XXX r. 
 
 • 
 
 T^HEIiE is n<. hero-worship in heaven. Chnst 
 -i. our Lord has the sole claim to adoriug rever- 
 ence. And great a,i may be the difference between 
 individual souls, this is no ground of external privi- 
 lege. One is our Master, and we are all brethren 
 Uo we then di.;:'.rage genius? Certainly not- for 
 genius IS not something obtained by labour, some- 
 thing acquired, but a gift of God, and the dwellers' 
 111 heaven, as well as those on earth, rejoice in the 
 gifts of God. But it furnishes no claim for reward 
 m heaven, where the question is not what was the 
 amount of gifts with which a man laboured but 
 what was the faithfulness with which he traded with 
 them. The man of genius developes on earth human 
 capacities, which are latent in other men also, but 
 which unfavourable circumstances—you know al- 
 rea^ly what I mean by circumstances-have not 
 suff:ered to develope. Men, as God thought them 
 are greater and fuller than they are in reality Some' 
 blades of grass work themselves out and develope 
 between the cracks of the pavement ; but how manx 
 germs are slumbering under it which would cdadly 
 shoot forth if they could \ Here in heaven'every 
 talent of the human mind can be developed by every 
 one, and each, in fact, developes those talents with 
 which he can serve others. For no one has gifts for 
 himself only, in the kingdom of God. 
 
•J" 
 
 5o6 LETTERS FROM HEAVEIsl. 
 
 Hence in heavoi we do not speak of great men iw 
 ■on earth. The Saviour never spi .ke of them on earth . 
 He was only astonished at and admired tlie bold 
 faith of individuals. 
 
 In heaven ever}/ one is an artist. For "like the 
 earthly artist we all strive to ponder the works of 
 Ood and to comprehend them in their purity. See 
 what pains the sculptor on earth takes to understand 
 and imitate the form of God's masterpiece, the 
 Jiuman body. We speak of perfect creations, while 
 nevertheless we mean only the most |)erfect possible 
 imitations of the Divine work. The genius of the 
 artist consists entirely in Ids not mistaking the acci- 
 dental phenomenon for perfection, but in grasping 
 the thoughts of God in their original purity. On 
 ^arth, however, stubborn matter has to be subdued 
 and the hand practised ; in heaven, where no dea<l 
 mass has to be overcome, and where the conception, 
 once grasped, can be projected from the mind and' 
 enter into appeaiance without mallet or brush, artis- 
 tic creation is much easier, and the more so, that the 
 works of God are always before our eyes and reflected 
 in our souls in their pure form. 
 
 Delight in art is here natural to us all, while on 
 earth it is the privilige of only certain select indivi- 
 duals. I have often heard you deplore the want of 
 taste and feeling for art in tlie lower classes, who 
 often find their special pleasure in what is ugly and 
 bad. Still delight in the beautiful is not\vholly 
 absent even among them. The peasant woman, who 
 takes care of her flowers and stan<Is contemplating 
 
reat men as 
 jm on earth, 
 d the boll I 
 
 or "like the 
 he works of 
 urity. See 
 understand 
 srpiece, the 
 ions, while 
 ct possible 
 ins of the 
 '^ the acci- 
 1 grasping 
 arity. On 
 e subdued 
 e no dead 
 conception, 
 mind and 
 ush, artis- 
 3, that tlie 
 d reflected 
 
 , while on 
 Jot indivi- 
 ) want of 
 isse.s, who 
 ugly and 
 )t wholly 
 man, who 
 jmplating 
 
 LET2ERS FROM HE A VEN. 207 
 
 and admiring her favorites, Hnds pleasure in the 
 beauty of God's works. Ihit earthly art is in only 
 the rarest cases generally comprehensible. For it 
 not only pre-supposes experience and knowled-e 
 <think for instance of historical painting) which the 
 majority are without, but it is .jften obliged when 
 the sfubborness of matter hinders it from sryin- what 
 It would, to have recourse to symbolism and to "speak 
 as It were, a secret language, which only the initiated 
 comprehend. Besides, just e.vamine whether, when 
 you see the ugly preferred and valued instead of the 
 beautiful, sin is not the source of the error Only 
 think how sometimes a supposed work of art betrays 
 the obvious purpose of the artist to excite sense ; and 
 then look not only at the lascivious representation 
 which the poor man hangs up in liis room, but also 
 at many poems and pictures esteemed as perfect 
 works of art. Certainly nature is the subject of 
 artistic representation ; but it makes all the diffe- 
 rence, whether it is so presented as to delight the 
 mind or to inflame the blood. 
 
 ^ There are in heaven many who still carry on their 
 accustomed occupation with art ; only no one does so 
 professionally and exclusively. The heavenly life is 
 too many-sided and sets too many tasks and duties, 
 lor this one occupation to be able to fill up a life and 
 gave it satisfaction. And as all employment of gntls 
 HI our own interest is excluded, the motive which 
 Mrged them to production on earth is lackin- to 
 many. " 
 
 There are in heaven many poets whose delight it * 
 

 '. h) 
 
 f" 10 
 
 te 
 
 ao8 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN, 
 
 is to sing and say, i.e. to bring before the mind, what 
 they have experienced. The alliance, which poetry 
 and music have but externally concluded on earth 
 IS here a much more inward one. Music says and 
 poetry sings, and both are in truth the same-emana- 
 tions of the one light which on earth appearsin sepa- 
 rate rays. * ^ 
 
 In close alliance with them are also painters, who 
 bring before the mind the earthly life in its various 
 forms and circumstances. We often use their ser- 
 vices for the purpose of producing in our minds a 
 more perfect remembrance of vanished times You 
 will perhaps ask, whether there is dramatic art also 
 m heaven. I am not thinking of those so-called 
 artists who beguile with buffoonery the time of men 
 who find It hang heavy on their hands, or even exhi- 
 bit merely physical feats. But there is no matter 
 in heaven for even the really artistic drama The 
 tragic and the comic both belong to earth, for they 
 are both connected with the sin and infirmity of the 
 dwellers on earth. Tragedy laments, comedy laughs 
 at sm— we have overcome it. We no lunger need'' to 
 weep, for we have departed from the vale of tears • 
 nor to laugh, for we live in constant reioicin- 0/ 
 spirit. ° 
 
 A short time since n painter, a friend of mine 
 took me to his house, wiach he has decorated with 
 the works of his hand. In the middle hanos a 
 large and beautiful picture representing the Saviour 
 as He appears in heaven. He is stretching out 
 His hands to bless, as He is accustomed to do 
 
 m ^# 
 
r. 
 
 mind, what 
 ich poetry 
 i on earth, 
 ■ says and 
 e — eniana- 
 irsin sepa- 
 
 nters, who 
 ts various 
 
 their ser* 
 r minds a 
 les. You 
 c art also 
 
 so-called 
 ae of men 
 iven exhi- 
 no matter 
 iia. Tlie 
 , for they 
 ty of the 
 cly laughs 
 r need to 
 of tears \ 
 oicing of 
 
 of mine, 
 ed with 
 hangs a 
 Saviour 
 ing out 
 to do. 
 
 LET7ERS I^ROM HE A VEN, 
 
 20^ 
 
 the apostH for he knew them all On v r.! I 
 tscariot i3 represented accor,li,,„ ,„ a '^ 
 
 It ^.s the h.t'^t.ne I ^T^^^ tZZ 
 I regarded with admiration tlie heantv of fh» i 
 -d the relief with which the p ct re sLd „::'r"* 
 "•e li«ht, bright background The! d « ' 
 
 painters n.nst have hal some p.^ ent men?!? r,"" 
 beauty, when thev painted their fiCe of Lf. '''' ' 
 golden backgrounds. ° ■""'"' "" 
 
 Many of his pictures were, however devoted tc. 
 remembrances of his past earthly life '- tw ^ 
 my wife." said he, showing me a picture of 
 woman. " She is still alive h„t T i \ " 
 
 soon join us, and I hav Spired a sn'', " "'" 
 fnri,^^» Q • pteparea a special surnrisft 
 
 tor her. So saymg, he pointed to a whole row ^f 
 pictures of childron " Th^o.. "' 
 
 -i<^'^e;Mhavetprefi:r::,-;^t:t»" 
 
 earth ttt 7 '"'^7'«-=«*1 -^- -» - acutely o„ 
 earth, that I was able to retain and reproduce th^ 
 eatures o niy children in the various l^Z We 
 I.et me show y„u one more attempt" he s^d 
 Wtingup a curtain which hung everyone pictite 
 
 ot Ood, and to grasp in anticipation a beautv J^ k 
 >a not as yet before our eyes. That is ^'w,; t 
 the resurrection body." ^ "^ 
 
 14 
 
310 
 
 LET7ERS fROM H£AV£JV. 
 
 h % 
 
 ^ When I had enjoyed the ,,icture. I said to him • 
 
 \ f. >'^" '^^^'^ "i"^'l» intercourse here with former 
 li'iow urtists ?" 
 
 " Yes," answer. a he; " h„t more with such us 
 were not my ciitftiiporaiies on earth. My voca- 
 tion on earth was iiui f Imt of an artist. J ' was of 
 niea, origin. Though artistic talent had shown 
 Itself m me. the-m was no one who could pay for mv 
 education. I wu. therefore obliged to learn a tradJ, 
 and was only able to practise art in my leisure time 
 and often by the sacrifice of my night's rest. Hence' 
 the technical instruction which I procured for my- 
 self was scarcely sufWcient. [ had at least alway. 
 the consciousness that the productions of my nar,i 
 fell far short of the ideals of my mind. Bitterly a-. 
 I lamented on eart^i the fact that I could not U- 
 come an artist by profession, I now in heaven thank- 
 fully recognise God's gracious leading therein. For 
 a second-rate artist is indeed only a handicraftsman 
 who works to order and for pay, as I too did. But 
 a first-rate one, who is upheld by the favour of the 
 public, and flatter- u by the great, occupies a posi- 
 tion full of danger to his inner life. Earthly in- 
 cense acts as a narcotic. It is much less dan^^erous 
 to the soldier who is continually risking his life, and 
 to the statesman who knows men and the value 
 ot their approbation, than to the artist who lives 
 m retirement, and whose eye for earthly and 
 heavenly realities is obscured by its clouds. I 
 know among the blessed many wk.. , ^n eartli 
 famous artists, but w^ho have laid ,i,SH>, , r art iu 
 
 
d to him : 
 ith former 
 
 h such Hi 
 My voca- 
 
 l was of 
 ad shown 
 ay for my 
 n a trade, 
 sure time, 
 :. Hence 
 1 for my- 
 st always* 
 my iiar:.i 
 Jittorly a.^ 
 1 ijot be- 
 Bn thank- 
 ein. For 
 raftsman, 
 lid. But 
 IT of the 
 J a posi- 
 rthly in- 
 angerous 
 
 life, and 
 he value 
 ^ho lives 
 hly and 
 mds. I 
 jn eartli 
 
 r art iu 
 
 ^^ TT£/^S FROM HEA VEN. ,, i 
 
 lieaven, because they Hnd bfift..i. a..,i .« 
 
 thinir^ fn rU I l" " ' '"^**^ important 
 
 much i ^h ' !""' '"'" ^'^^ P^^-^«» '^ ''^'"^ 
 
 much ,t they .an only admire him as «„ artist, but 
 
 por:rt^:ti^::^:;tr™^^^""^'- 
 
 «si>pmB,) „r„„. ' "' men, or men 
 
 «steeme,i great, are mvestigated with conscientious 
 
 reverence, and what trouble is taken to briu7rh 
 
 h?: uiirT '':" "■"""•"■"^ "• ""■ ^-o^^^Co^ 
 
 with the ,eal or supposed greatness of the object of ' 
 venerafou, while the veil of oblivion is drawn o.er 
 r ally important matters ; „„d , „„iieJ at the iZ 
 •'I men who are so ready to venerate anythin ■ rather 
 tlmn that which is truly worthy of venerat "r 
 
XXXll. 
 
 
 
 
 I ONCE met your fatlier in conversation with ani 
 jlderly man, whose features were not entirely 
 unknown to me. I approached the two and feund 
 that he knew rae,although I could not myself remeni-^ 
 ber either the time when, or the place where I had 
 met him during my earthly life, He was a general 
 at his death, and had been but a short time in 
 heaven. 
 
 He came to the assistance of my memory and said : 
 " When I was a young officer I was once quartered 
 in your native town. The inhabitants gave an enter- 
 tainment in honour of their guests, at which you and 
 your family were also present. There was dancing, 
 but during the dance you disappeared and went into 
 the garden." 
 
 I remembered. " I was not opposed to this amuse- 
 ment, which was also permitted me by my parents, 
 but it did not afford me full satisfaction. Much as I 
 liked dancing, T nowhere felt more solitary than in 
 the ball room. Something was wanting. My young 
 friends, who were casting stealthy glances at the 
 dancers, and regarding each other with jealousy and 
 envy on account of supposed preferences, were but 
 little accessible. I separated myself from them to 
 enjoy the air alone in the garden. It was a lovely 
 summer evening. My Laart was full. I felt stirred 
 by opposite emotions. I was filled with love of life 
 
with aii' 
 entirely 
 i feiiiid 
 remem- 
 ; I had 
 general 
 lime in 
 
 ad said : 
 lartered 
 n enter- 
 70U and 
 lancing, 
 ent into 
 
 amuse- 
 parents, 
 iich as I 
 than iu 
 
 y young 
 
 at the 
 isy and 
 ere but 
 Jiem to 
 I lovely 
 r stirred 
 i of life 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 2,3 
 
 and with youthful gaiety, and affected by a lonain.. 
 after something better, some dim expectation ^f I 
 happier state. In such a frame of mind I was walk- 
 ing alone, and the young officer who followed 
 me ) 
 
 '' Wa^ myself," replied he, " I went after you It 
 was not the mere desire for fresh air that induced 
 me also to leave the room. The provincial tone of 
 the society did not please me. I had been accustomed 
 in the capital to seek for recreation with the fair sex 
 in a freer manner, than etiquette permitted during a 
 ball of this kind. I met you and jested at your wak- 
 ing about aloiie in a reverie and gazing at the moon, 
 but we soon fell into deeper and more serious con- 
 versation. You spoke of your dissatisfaction, an.l 
 thus gave rise to it." 
 
 ''You immediately began to instruct me, what you 
 said was strangely new to me, you must certainly 
 'think differently now." 
 
 " Just repeat it," exclaimed he. 
 
 ■• You said that the world in general being imper- 
 fect, there was no reason why we should lay claim 
 to perfection ; that we ought not to be always looki,,.. 
 at what might be, but should gladly and joyfully sur! 
 render „ur.,e ves to what is. You affirmed that the 
 world was always pleasant enough and that so lon» 
 as enjoyment beckoned us. and we had the power o£ 
 enjoying, we should take what is given us. That 
 flowers were everywhere blooming around us, and we 
 •••..■ on.y M open our eyes to see them. ' I know ' 
 Vou said, 'that by-and-by I shall think otherwise'; 
 
u: 
 
 214 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 # 
 
 .)" 
 
 
 youth passes away.and in old age we think differently 
 from what we did in youth. Bnt the greatest pleasure 
 of my age will consist in thinking of how I enjoyed 
 my youth. It is not indeed spent without certain 
 errors and follies, but these are the necessary shadows, 
 cast by the light. Nay, it is just the follies of youth 
 that will afterwards shed a cheerful light, and afford 
 old age matter for pleasant memories.' And when I 
 made some objection,! know not what, you continued 
 with more animation, ' Anything but that everlasting 
 talk about the sin and corruption of the worid, I 
 hate nothing so much as this obsolete rubbish of 
 fanatical parsons. We can't all hang our heads as 
 they do, and we want not merely to look at the 
 flowers which bloom in our path, but also to pluck 
 
 them.' ' 
 
 " Frothy fermenting must," said your father. 
 " which became good wine .? " He did not, however, 
 speak cheerfully, but with a serious questioning look 
 at the other. 
 
 " So would the world say," replied he, " and so- 
 perhaps said I too." The must ferments and froths, 
 this is just how it becomes good wine, and fermenta- 
 tion is a condition of its clearing. But does it e /er 
 go through a period when it is ill-flavoured and 
 80ur ? does it not continue to be at every stage a 
 good gift of God, through striving for perfection ? 
 Youth, too, has to go through a process of fermenta- 
 tion, and it is but a poor and enervated kind which 
 would seek to be wine before the time. Youth must 
 entertain its ideals, and it may in restless enerves- 
 
fferently 
 pleasure 
 enjoyed 
 
 certain 
 shadows 
 if youth 
 d afford 
 1 when I 
 mtinued 
 erlasting 
 woTid, I 
 bbish of 
 leads as 
 
 at the 
 to pluck 
 
 ■ father- 
 however, 
 dng look 
 
 " and so- 
 d froths,, 
 erraenta- 
 s it e /er 
 ired and 
 y stage a 
 rfection ? 
 ermenta- 
 id which 
 uth must 
 
 efferves- 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 215 
 
 tence bring about the clearing of mature life. But 
 IS It necessary to the process that it should wallow in 
 filth and enter, so to speak, into an acid fermenta- 
 tion ? These are not preliminary stages, but obstacles 
 to clearmg, and after years will suffer more or less 
 loss, but never derive advantage from such stages of 
 transition.—I have at no time perhaps had more 
 sms to repent of than at that when I declaimed 
 against discoursing on sin, nay, I can right well re- 
 member that I talked myself into a certain amount 
 of zeal, for the purpose of silencing the admonitions 
 of conscience. I used to denounce, of course not then 
 only, the clergy in general, of whom I knew only one, 
 the kind and j.'^ood pastor of my native village, who' 
 had never been able in anyway to make too°nearan 
 approach to me. But as you know, the thief rails at 
 the judge. And the hope that I might find subse- 
 quently pleasure in looking back at the time of my 
 youth has never been fulfilled, either on earth or 
 even in heaven,/ Many serious consequences of my 
 youthful arrogance have prevented it even above. 
 
 I replied : " I conracdicted you but little, although 
 what you said was so utterly opposed to all that" I 
 had hitherto heard. Still less did I without farther 
 consideration agree with you. But your doctrine 
 produced a certain uneasiness, Why should I at 
 eighteen years of age, be cut off from so many of the 
 enjoyments of life? Where were the flowers which 
 I might have plucked? and why had they been 
 hitherto concealed from me ? A young girl is the 
 docile pupil uf a man. As long as he does not make 
 
2l6 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 
 
 !•» 'is 
 
 W\ 
 
 himself des] icable, she takes in his teaching with 
 more avidity than she lets it be supposed, and it is 
 far easier to mislead her tha;i, thank God, it seems 
 to be. A girl's silent attention often means a loud 
 « yes." 
 
 " I know it," said he," from other cases." 
 
 " But the angels of God," added your father, 
 " hover round their charges, and call to them : ' Flee, 
 flee!'" 
 
 " But now," said I, turning to the old man, " we 
 meet again in heaven." 
 
 " Yes, through God's mercy. I found my God 
 before my first campaign. In the circle of my com- 
 rades we often talked of the prospects which the war 
 would bring us, and also of the dangers which it 
 entailed. We avoided speaking of death, but we 
 thought of it all the more vividly. I knew the say- 
 ing : ' It is sweet and honourable to die for one's 
 country.' I fully acknowledged its truth. But it 
 was far less terrible -to me to encoimter death, than 
 another life after death. 1 knew the saying of the 
 poet : ' To sleep, perhaps to dream,' and it deeply 
 moved me, I could not get rid of this ' perhaps.' 
 What would it avail me to gain earthly laurels, to 
 have my name handed down with honour to poste- 
 rity, if I myself should dream instead of sleep, and 
 dream mayhap a bad, an endless dream ! " 
 
 " Before tlie commencement of my first battle I 
 prayed for the first time since my childhood, and did 
 not again omit doing so. I was seriously wounde<l 
 
 and takftTJ tn flip, hnsnifal \t was rlnnhtfnl whpt.liPr 
 
ling with 
 , {tnd it is 
 , it seems 
 iDS a loud 
 
 ir father, 
 n : ' Flee, 
 
 nan, " we 
 
 my God 
 my com- 
 ti the war 
 which it 
 , but we 
 r the say- 
 for one's 
 But it 
 ath, than 
 ng of the 
 it deeply 
 perhaps.' 
 aurels, to 
 to poste- 
 leep, and 
 
 t battle I 
 I, and did 
 wounded 
 
 1 VA'hpf.hPT" 
 
 / E TTERS FROM HE A VEJV. 2 1 7 
 
 I should live. How glad I was then to be able to 
 confess and to speak of my sins, and how thankful to 
 the clergyman who brought to me the comforting 
 assurance of pardon ! " 
 
 " The profession to which you belonged," said your 
 father, 'is so especially calculated to warn men that 
 ■they have on earth no abiding city." 
 
 *' Is not the same warning to be heard in every 
 condition of life? As the countryman can get accus- 
 tomed in his quiet village to see the rows of graves 
 get longer and longer in the churchyard, so does the 
 soldier get accustomed to look death in the face and 
 to liave the dead before his eyes. They who do not 
 choose to see, see nothing even on the battle-field. 
 The blessing of my calling is that it educates men to 
 discipline and obedience. It is well said, that sol- 
 diers are needed in every country against a sudden 
 outbreak of war. They are much more needed in 
 peace, as an antidote against the insubordination and 
 impatience of control of the age. We learned to 
 J«now the seriousness of life by strictest subjection 
 to the wills of others ; we developed our powers most 
 perfectly without feeHng obedience a burden; we 
 felt our souls most at liberty when we were obe- 
 dient ; we learned to despise the phrases and the 
 empty talk of those, who would not contribute a 
 stone to the edifice of national prosperity until they 
 were themselves its architects. We were the educa- 
 tors of mankind, and we had to draw the reins the 
 tighter, in proportion as such education was else- 
 
 
2i8 
 
 LET2ERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 " How you any children ? asked I. » 
 
 ** Only sons, they are all serving their country." 
 , " And for the sake of gain ?" inquired your father. 
 
 ** My family is a wealthy one. They serve from love 
 of their sovereig'n and fatherland." 
 
 •' See," replied your father, " how well it is to em- 
 brace a calling on earth without regard to gain and 
 profit. What an excellent preparation for the heaven- 
 ly calling, in which the highest happiness is found 
 in service." 
 
Lintry." 
 iir father, 
 from love: 
 
 s to era- 
 gain and 
 3 heaven- 
 is found 
 
 XXXIII, 
 
 »- 
 
 T T has been said by one who lays just claim to the 
 J- name of a great man, that life did not seem to 
 liim worth the trouble of living without the hope of 
 another life. He was active beyond others, and 
 brought the greatest benefits to your native land by 
 his devoted labour. This expression is one so natural 
 for a man, and yet it originates in a disposition 
 shared by few. The liigher point of view has been 
 lost by so many, who have accustomed themselves to 
 a lazy acquiescence worthy of a beggar who feels he 
 is in his right condition. When I was still at school, 
 under the instruction of a kind and conscientious 
 teacher, I felt so happy in the fulfilment of my small 
 duties, and thought so little of the fact that the 
 instruction and practice of school were not their own 
 object, that it was only with reluctance that I turned 
 my thoughts to the time when my school life would 
 be over. I found the object of my life fulfilled in 
 being a school girl. But in this I was a child. The 
 dwellers in heaven also rejoice when you, who dwell 
 below, feel happy in the school of life, willingly per- 
 form your limited duties, keep your little festivals in 
 your respective circles, and find your world in the 
 school-room of earth ; but life has to succeed to 
 scliool time, and childish things have to be put 
 
 away. 
 
 'Toble liiindcd men of all ages have shared the feel* 
 
\ 
 
 220 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN. 
 
 ing of him of whom I spoke ; they were like the sous 
 of a sovereign, who, even in the banishment and 
 without hope of returning to the king's palace, have 
 felt royal blood btirring in their veins. The very 
 heathen perceived the germ power of the soul for 
 another life, though they did not see the sun which 
 was to develop this germ. But long before men un- 
 dertook to investigate eternity with the microscope, 
 and spirit with the probe, this hope was disputed. 
 Millenniums ago a plebeian mock humility already 
 talked of the final dissolution of man into atoms and 
 of eternity, just as a rustic might talk of the sym- 
 phony of a great nraster. Is not that separation into 
 two companies, which is to take place at that day, 
 being prepared for in the human race according to 
 the position tal^en up by its members towards 
 eternity ? 
 
 Man is made for life, and that need not be declared 
 from heaven. He who created masses out of atoms, 
 destined to a constant circulation, raised man above 
 this circulation by bestowing on him the breath of 
 life. His soul has no share in the play of atoms, or- 
 •else how would this be so clearly reflected in the soul, 
 if the soul itself participated in the njotion ? 
 
 How I delight in thinking of the time when you 
 will see, will live, together with us. You will 
 drink in life in full deep draughts. You will feel 
 witli rapture that you have a present not limited 
 by the past or the future, that you exist without 
 a breath of corruption. You will with 
 certain of the ever clear and full con- 
 
 tracing 
 
 •iieiignt be 
 
e the sons 
 nent and 
 lace, have 
 The very 
 ! soul for 
 un which 
 i men un- 
 licroscope, 
 disputed, 
 y already 
 itoms and 
 the sym- 
 ation into 
 that day, 
 ording to 
 towards 
 
 B declared 
 of atoms, 
 lan above 
 breath of 
 atoms, or- 
 1 the soul, 
 ? 
 
 vhen you 
 You will 
 will feel 
 »t limited 
 : without 
 will with 
 full con- 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 221 
 
 sciousness of vour wliole 
 
 ego. 
 
 and will no lonyer 
 
 as on earth rejoice or be alarmed at a single ray 
 of it, and still less see at certain times some dismal 
 depth of your own self lit up as by lightning. You 
 will be steeped in the full enjoyment of an ever- 
 equal harmony of life, consciious indeed of deficiency 
 and imperfection, but seeing at the same time happy 
 and unobstructed growth. 
 
 If the inhabitants of earth could take a view of 
 this fulness of the heavenly life they would believe 
 —no, they would see, and that they are not to do. 
 The purpose for which the ideal of life is Jield upi 
 nay lived, before them, is that they may measure 
 by it the partialness and poverty of their own life, ' 
 and attain to the liope of a better and fuller one'" 
 You know how on earth we used, when winter 
 approached, to take shoots from the favourite 
 plants of our garden, to take care of them indoors 
 llnvjugh the winter, and in spring to plant them 
 again in the garden. They grew indeed but scantily, 
 a'ld brought forth only single flowers. But these 
 single flowers also were beautiful. We talked of 
 our winter garden, and tlie care and contemplation 
 of our plants were a great pleasure to us during the 
 long, dark winter. But we never forgot that the 
 plants would not burst into full flower till summer 
 and in the garden. How many changed their appear- 
 ance in the room, what long lean stalks they shot 
 up, how yellow were their leaves, many were quite 
 caricatures of plants. Do you know what humour 
 is on earth ? It is the j,ift~springing indeed onlv 
 
r%" 
 
 223 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 1S( 
 '-MO 
 
 of the world — of 
 II winter garden, 
 
 in the soil of a Christian view 
 perceiving the world to be such 
 and of measuring the mean forms of the plants by 
 their true ideal forms, without liowever losing 
 delight in the single blossonis which God allows to 
 grow even in the winter garden. Nay, this humour 
 itself, smiling among tears, is a fragrant flower 
 which blooms for the inhabitants of earth. It 
 has no place in heaven — the tears are wiped 
 away. • 
 
 Well for him who perceives with deep yearning 
 the poverty and partialness of human life, but at 
 the same time does not kill the germs which, 
 .shooting forth in the atmosphere of heaven, are to 
 impart its full and vigorous form to the trea of 
 human existence. Sorrow and suffering bring a 
 man more quickly and surely to this perception, but 
 a single eye suffices. 
 
 Let me unroll before you certain single pictures 
 <A human life. I will for once leave aside the 
 difference between believers and unbelievers. I will 
 place myself on the stand point of purely human 
 notions, will allow for the circumstances and ob- 
 serve the limits beyond which the individual man 
 could not advance, and will show you how poor and 
 partial many a man's life is through his own fauii, 
 nay, how self-crippled it is. 
 
 This self-impovershment and self-crippling seem 
 .to me least prominently met with in childhood. A 
 merry, healthy child developes its life on all sides, 
 and puts forth plentiful buds which might become 
 
 A 
 
world — of 
 !!• garden, 
 plants by 
 er losing 
 allows to 
 3 humour 
 fit llower 
 iarth. It 
 re wiped 
 
 yearning 
 fe, but at 
 IS which, 
 en, are to 
 le tree of 
 ; bring a 
 ption, but 
 
 3 pictures 
 aside the 
 •s. I will 
 iy human 
 \ and ob- 
 dual man 
 ' poor and 
 wn fauk, 
 
 ling seem 
 Ihood. A 
 1 all sides, 
 it become 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN, tz^ 
 
 Howers, if a foolish education did not per '\\. 'ice cut 
 off' vigorous sprouts for the purpose of cul vating 
 weaker ones. In the lower classes, too, life mostly 
 developes itself more fully and freely than in the 
 upper, who know more of life than the lower, but 
 confine it within so much narrower boundaries. A 
 girl of the working classes has occasion to develope 
 many talents and powers ; she lives in unrestrained 
 and many-sided intercourse with iier fellow creatures, 
 and has, moreover, a vocation. Look, on \ .e other 
 hand, at many of the daughters of the upper classes. 
 Look at the long school hours, the often toilsome ^nd 
 seldom honest cultivation of particular gifts existing 
 really to only a very slight extent, and which aftet 
 all amounts only to aimless trifling. Look at the 
 constant care for personal dornment which willingly 
 submits to a servile dependence on the prescriptions 
 of fashion, and often contemptuously refuses all re- 
 gard for the beautiful and becoming. See how 
 frequently whole weeks are looked upon as merely a . 
 season of preparation for some pleasure, which at 
 
 nothing but disappointment, nay. 
 
 lasu brings 
 
 how very soon the necessity of recreation is 
 spoken of— recreation from pleasure. How paltry ! 
 See how life itself offers less and less, how demands 
 on the future fall lower year by year, very often un- 
 til marriage only begins the second period of a one- 
 sided self-impoverished life. Then look at the young 
 men. At the time when their hearts should beat 
 fully and warmly for all that is great and noble, and 
 they should experience in the consciousness of their 
 
^^i. 
 
 324 
 
 LE TIERS EROM HEA VEN. 
 
 • 
 
 rising powers a foretaste of the happiness of Para- 
 dise, they are already anxiously calculating on the 
 bread-winning of their after days, and sacrificing 
 their ideals for quick and certain profits ; or they are 
 cherishing in a one-sided manner an artificial feeling 
 of honoui which is constantly spying about for any 
 who might be inclined to wound it, and knows well 
 how to combine an exaggerated assertion of its own 
 dignity with the most childisli actions ; oi' they 
 aflect dandyism and conceal the shallowness of their 
 minds under easily acquired aristocratic manners. 
 How paltry! Look at the woman who checks by 
 force the impulse to activity innate in every human 
 being, lets herself be waited on as much as possible, 
 and is in continual ill-humour with the imperfect 
 services of her ^subordinates, because with all her 
 exhortations to diligence she always sets them a 
 pattern of idleness, who in unconscious self-derision 
 finds her pleasure in severely censuring in social 
 circles the weakness of her sex. How paltry ! Look 
 at the man who after the day's work can apply hifj 
 leisure time to nothing but the pursuit of some- 
 hobby, which bears in every one's eyes the mark of 
 partialness, who can only use his hand, that symbol 
 of man's supremacy, in guiding the pen, who knowa 
 nothing of the beauty and wealth of nature beyond 
 the distant glimpse aftbrded by his oft-trodden walk, 
 who in the evening must try to forget instead of to 
 comprehend his life. How paltry! I will not speak 
 of the old man often occupied only in the care of his 
 health and the preservation of his snark of life, and 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 aa5 
 
 meanwhile f .rfeitiny even those joys which Hourish 
 for old iige. You will have perceived that men on 
 eaith are not Hkc -xoea, reaching a full and goodly 
 growth in a favourable soil. 
 
 Do you think I am painting dark pictures ? Tor- 
 haps it is natural to me in the light of heaven to lay 
 too much stress on tlie darkness of eartii. But I am 
 not thinking of human nature collectively, I myself 
 did not live so poor a life on earth, and I do not think 
 I should have done so even without faith, many 
 thousands do not. But just see, whether eternal 
 life is not most denied in precisely those circles in 
 which earthly life is most crippled and partial. 
 
 15 
 
\ 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 !• 
 
 Il 
 
 lira 
 
 IN everlasting light and life one remembers with a 
 strange feeling the time when day and night, 
 -walking and sleeping, alternated with eacli other. It 
 is difficult to transpose oneself to that feeling of a 
 need of sleep with which man, partly a natural, partly 
 s. spiritual being, wiUingly sinks into the arms of his 
 mother nature, there to receive fresh power. How 
 full earthly night is of mysterious beauty and mys- 
 terious terror ! It is just in the night that another 
 world, with its everlasting stars, rises on man, that 
 the faintly and uncertainly lighted earth appears so 
 truly a land of shadows, and aspirations are stirred 
 in the soul towards the abodes of unchanging light. 
 I remember many a beautiful night on earth. Last 
 New Year's night is still before my mind. We were 
 standing together at the open window, the church 
 with its tall tapering spire lay before us bathed in 
 moonlight, the bells were resounding far and wide, 
 and in their pauses we could hear the bells of the 
 neighbouring villages, their sounds now strengthened, 
 now scattered by the wind. Those distant bells 
 seemed to me like the gxeetings of eternity, and my 
 soul longed to enter into its rest. I thought of many 
 a past New Year's night, of many another night of 
 my life, of many tears, sighs, prayers, which only 
 night had seen, of many graves which were yet 
 ^'InnpH t.n tTiP« of mv own aravfi- It was a hannv. a 
 
 
rs with a 
 id night, 
 )ther. It 
 ing of a 
 al, partly 
 ns of his 
 r. How 
 nd mys- 
 
 another 
 nan, that 
 >pears so 
 3 stirred 
 ng light. 
 :h. Last 
 We were 
 le church 
 lathed in 
 tid wide, 
 Is of the 
 igthened, 
 mt bells 
 , and my 
 
 of many 
 
 night of 
 lich only 
 were yet 
 
 haDDv. ft 
 
 LETTERS FROM HE A VEN. 227 
 
 blessed lioiir; but I also know of dark, sad nights, 
 not devoted to peaceful contemplation of the past', 
 but reluctantly sacrificed to present grief. How long 
 such nights of sorrow are! how fearful is the q^lies- 
 tion : " Watchman, what of the ni*Tht ? " 
 
 Your father was lying on liis death-bed. There 
 were alternations of dozing and of seasons of con- 
 sciousness, during which in the delirium of pain he 
 now impatiently asked for something impossible, now 
 desired with a moan to change his position, now in a 
 stupor picked tufts from the coverlet. I sat there, 
 while he seemed just slumbering, staring at the glim- 
 mering night-light or at the stertorously breaching 
 man on the sick bed, and listening to the equal tick- 
 ing of the death-watch, all around me was lonely and 
 <ieath-hke, the house silent as the grave— I remember 
 many a sleepness night in the time of my widowhood, 
 when I, unduly exaggerating little cares as is the 
 wont of the aged, was occupied with your lot and 
 that of your children— and above all, my last night 
 on earth, my breathing was so laboured I could not 
 lie, and scarcely sit, cold perspiration was on my • 
 brow. It was so quiet around, I could hear through 
 the slight partition the regular breathing of the 
 sleepers near me; the silence was only sometimes 
 interrupted by the gentle cry of some dreaming child. 
 I think of how 1 got up, impelled more by the pangs 
 of death than h^ the dawning day, and dressed my- 
 self—to die. My Lord and God, I thank Thee that 
 Thou didst release me and bring me to the light ; 
 larevv-eil eaitiiiy nighc, with thy stars and moonlight. 
 
I, 
 
 228 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVED. 
 
 I am in the light, my eye needs no night and no 
 darkness wherein to rest, it is accustomed to light. 
 Only in hell where there is weeping and gnashing of 
 teeth is there darkness, a lasting lonely night of sor- 
 sow ! 
 
 And yet earth, and all that is of earth, needs night,, 
 because all life germinates in its maternal bosom. 
 Life also germinates in nights of suffering ; and just 
 look at nature, which though it does not sleep, 
 yet obtains and brings forth life in the night, that it 
 may be developed in the light. The spirit of God 
 once brooded over the lightless creation to deposit 
 and fertilize germs. And still the mysterious and 
 hidden darkness is the place where life germinates. 
 Even for the heavenly life, which is open to its very 
 depths to the light, this ordinance of God has still 
 its significance. For we, too, until the day of Resur- 
 rection, are looking with hope to the night, in which 
 a germ is to be developed ; for our body is slumber- 
 ing in the darkness of the grave, a corn of wheat 
 which is to come forth gloriously in the light of the 
 Resurrection morning. 
 
 Night envelopes all human genesis and grcvth. 
 Thought springs up from the night of unconscious- 
 ness, ds lightning shoots forth from the dark cloud. 
 From the night of childhood, in which the baptismal 
 gift slumbers, faith grows up into the daylight of 
 consciousness; we do not cherish the precious plan 
 till it has penetrated to the light, God cherishes it 
 in the i^erm. Look at all that is good, or great, or 
 
 It' 
 
 
 
 ■«r/Mi vi/hii^'n 
 
 ifa 
 
t and no 
 
 to light. 
 
 lashin,^ of 
 
 lit of sor- 
 
 eds iiiglity 
 il bosom. 
 
 and just 
 lot sleep,. 
 at, that it 
 it of God 
 deposit 
 rious and 
 jrminates. 
 o its very 
 
 has still 
 of Kesur- 
 
 in which 
 
 slumber- 
 of wheat 
 ;ht of the 
 
 i grcvth. 
 conscious- 
 ark cloud, 
 baptismal 
 ayl'ght of 
 cious plan 
 berishes it 
 r great, or 
 
 uir rian 
 
 ifo 
 
 ZE TTERS FROM HE A VE^ 229 
 
 birthday has dawned ; but you did not see it originate 
 and gi'ow. 
 
 But all this needs time, good fruit developes slow- 
 ly. Would it not be folly in the agriculturist, after 
 he has deposited seed in the earth, to want to see 
 whether it has sprouted, or to dig up the grain to 
 observe it, or to tear open the young shooting stalk 
 to look after the ears. Learn then to have patience 
 also in the spiritual life till the seed of God grows, 
 and do not take rapidly growing weeds for God's 
 plants. But above all do not lift up the veil of 
 night with which God covers His work, lest by your 
 impatience and temerity you destroy the germ«. 
 Even the ripening ears, which show themselves 
 with glad promise to the eye, live by the roots, 
 which casmot be uncovered without injuring the life 
 of the ears. 
 
 A friend was telling me in heaven of the welU 
 meaning injudiciousucss of an instructor, to whose 
 special care she had during her youth been commit- 
 ted. He was one of whose who, with all their earnest- 
 ness and personal piety, have little confidence in the 
 agency of the Holy Spirit, and who do pot under- 
 stand that wonderful conversation of the Saviour 
 with Nicodemus, which significantly took place by 
 night. Tliey want to find out whence the wind 
 cometh and whither it goeth, nay, they would like to 
 direct its course according to their will. He was in- 
 cessantly letting down his plummet into the inner 
 life of the growing girl. He required that she should 
 be constantly testing her own spiritual state, and 
 
»3<^ 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 also that she should communicate the result to him- 
 self. He was continually digging the soil of her 
 inner life, and so injuring the young and often weak 
 stalks He inflicted on her soul many a wound from 
 which flowed the corrupt matter of hypocrisy ; she 
 accustomed herself gradually to a self-contemplating- 
 vanity and a pharisaic contempt for others. It 
 was but very slowly that she recovered from these 
 wounds, and humbly let fresh seed be sown by the 
 Lord. 
 
 You know, my son, that I never tried to excuse or 
 conceal the hatred found on earth towards Christ 
 and believers, nor could I possibly do so for truth's 
 sake in the light of heaven. If they have hated 
 Him, they will hate His people also. But there is a 
 grain of truth in the opposition of the enemies when 
 they see how the sacred ordinances of God, which 
 equally pervade the kingdoms of nature and grace, 
 are broken through by daring hands, guided for the 
 most part by pride and vanity, unless the ultimate 
 eauses of such proceedings reach down into a still 
 darker, a weird province of the soul's life. 
 
 Therefore let that which God has sown grow tran- 
 quilly, Appeal again and again in virtue of God's 
 commission, appeal in earnest and affectionate words,, 
 comfort the desponding, alarm the secure, b^t do not 
 seek to do the work of the Holy Spirit yourself. 
 Leave that in tranquillity which should be in tran- 
 quillity, and learn to be tranquil yourself. To be 
 tranquil, means to let God's Spirit work in secret, to- 
 
 vvtiit tiii MuClo iiEirVcSo Liiii^ ly cuuiUi ou auuijj i>i 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN". 
 
 23 r 
 
 to liim- 
 of her 
 bh weak 
 nd from 
 sy ; she 
 nplating^ 
 ers. It 
 tn these 
 by the 
 
 xcuse or 
 } Christ 
 • truth's 
 e hated 
 hiere is a 
 BS when 
 J, which 
 d grace^ 
 for the 
 ultimate 
 o a still 
 
 )w tran- 
 of God's 
 e words^ 
 ^t do not 
 yourself, 
 in tran- 
 Tobe 
 iecret, to- 
 
 your brother pastors, so many others, who desire to 
 be earnest Christians, do not in the over much busi- 
 ness of their lives attain to tranquillity. That must 
 indeed be a copious sprin<( whose well needs no other 
 supplies but only gives forth continually. Look at 
 the pastors of old times, how they used to sit over 
 the Scriptures and the teaching of the Fathers, who 
 were always to be found at home, and who in retire- 
 ment and tranquillity lived before their flocks lives 
 earnest yet cheerful, and resting on God. Look at 
 modern pastors, often estranged from their homes 
 and congregations, ready to minister to all except 
 those over whom God has made them shepherds, ex- 
 hausting themselves v/ith overmuch business, and so 
 frequently only laying the- foundations, so seldom 
 building the edifice. 
 
 The happiness of fieing able at the same time to 
 take in and give out, to learn and to minister, is 
 reserved for heaven, as your life needs the night's 
 sleep after the day's work, as rh|it alone is a healthy 
 life in which the two regularly alternate, so too do 
 the plants of your spiritual life need, after the heat 
 of the day, their night hours of hidden germination 
 and growth, of recollection and absortion, for which 
 neither longer pauses from work for the purpose of 
 amusement, nor periods of merely bodily recreation 
 can compensate. 
 
 iiiixii 
 
 y Oi 
 
XXXV. 
 
 "'TPHOUGH I speak witli the tongues of men 
 X and angels, and have not love, I am become 
 as sounding brass, or as a tinkling cymbal." We 
 do now talk together with the tongues of angels :, 
 but the best that we talk of is begotton of love to 
 God. " God is love." This is a mystery to the 
 earthly spirit, although it can already bless the 
 earthly heart. In heaven, however, the dawn of 
 knowledge has risen upon me. And with the 
 knowledge of love the power to love increases, for 
 to love is to be like God. For the soul made in 
 God's image is destined to love and thirst after 
 love ; its nature is perfect wherl it loves. How is 
 it possible that a soul should c ' oose to stand alone, 
 and to be without love ? Sin is already separation 
 from God, temporary, perhaps not even desired ; 
 but how can a soul clesire to be separated for ever, 
 from the first cause of its being, to go where there 
 are indeed many, but where no communion exists ? 
 Solve these questions, which already occupied 
 angels before the creation, and you will have 
 reached the goal of all knowledge. And yet there 
 are undoubtedlv human beings, who choose to be 
 without Ic ve. 
 
 "Let us love one another"; it is a saying of 
 great significance for heaven as well as earth. 
 
 iTr» i'l 11 ii 1 ._<• .1. V 
 
 »"»■ iiui, iiiiiceu, tioeo me language oi ciirLii iucuii «jy 
 
of men 
 become 
 ." We 
 angels ; 
 love to 
 
 to the 
 ess the 
 lawn of 
 ith the 
 ises, for 
 Qade in 
 St after 
 How is 
 i alone, 
 paration 
 desired ; 
 Dr ever, 
 •e there 
 
 exists ? 
 ccupied 
 II have 
 it there 
 e to be 
 
 ying of 
 
 I earth. 
 I 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 233 
 
 love ? How does love become hatred in the world 
 
 of sin, so that men think they love just when they 
 
 bitterly hate ? A mother blinded by vanity spoils 
 
 her child, tiatters its faults, cherishes all the germs 
 
 of evil and speaks of love! Or one man helps 
 
 another to sin, that he may be helped in his turn, 
 
 shuts his eyes when he should have opened them, 
 
 is silent when he should have spoken, and talks of 
 
 love. Or the while of truth and the black of 
 
 lying are mingled into a disagreeable grey, all 
 
 sacred enthusiasm for justice, all serious horror at 
 
 injustice is avoided, yet love is spoken of. True 
 
 love is strong and holy, it is the test of all love 
 
 that it rejoices in the truth. And the God who 
 
 has been manifested to you in the Jfew Testament 
 
 as the God of love, is also the jealous God spoken 
 
 of in the Old Testament. •' Holy, holy, holy is the 
 
 Lord of hosts.' Yes, the God of love hates and 
 
 punishes evil. That is the thought which terrifies 
 
 the weaklings who make love mean what they wish, 
 
 but are not able to twist and turn words about 
 
 •God's wrath: fleeing before this thought they 
 
 make a morality for themselves by removing the 
 
 normal standard from the object to be measured. 
 
 I remember a bold saying of your father, who, 
 
 while yet on earth, declared : " If I did not 
 
 recogLisein the Scriptures and in conscience the 
 
 voice of God telling me, and having a right to tell 
 
 me, what to do and what to leave undone, I should 
 
 be inclined to be an iinoioral man, I should then at 
 
 1 J. 1 
 
 ittHoo ueceive no one." 
 
834 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 
 And this Holy God loves nevertheless all those 
 who are made in His image, though they have 
 renounced His love; He requires nothing further 
 from them, than that they should return to the 
 union which they have themselves given up. And 
 like Him we too learn to love all who bear a 
 human countenance, and rejoice in heaven o'/er 
 every reflection, however faint, of this universal all- 
 embracing love of God, which is found on earth. 
 Where men begin to set aside self for the sake of 
 otheis, where sacrifices are made, and good is done 
 for its own sake, we gladly see an image of the 
 love of God. 
 
 Love must, however, be learned, it does not spring 
 up of itself. Nor can man begin with the love of 
 God, he must learn to exercise love to the visible and 
 the individual before his love can rise to the invisible 
 and universal, it is not self-created, self-originated. 
 No one can go the contrary road. How can he love 
 God who does not love his brother ? how can he 
 love mankind who hates his neighbour ? Love 
 begins with child love. They are the ties of nature 
 which bind parents to their children, but a holy, a 
 Divine love is to grow out of natural love. And 
 they who have once grasped each other in love do 
 not let go again in time or eternity. I once read on 
 earth a saying to the effect, that the love of kindred 
 has now no longer any significance in heaven. As 
 though any one could put asunder what God has 
 joined together, as though a natural tie were not one 
 made by God. Had he who wrote it no love for his 
 
all those' 
 liey have 
 g further 
 :ii to the 
 up. And 
 
 bear a 
 ven cer 
 ^ersal all- 
 on earth. 
 
 1 sake of 
 . is done 
 ;e of the- 
 
 lot spring 
 )e love of 
 isible and 
 invisible 
 riginated. 
 1 he lovfr 
 w can he 
 ? Love 
 of nature 
 a holy, a 
 ve. And 
 n love da 
 e read on 
 ■ kindred 
 ,ven. As- 
 God has 
 e not onfr 
 ve for his 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEA VEN.. 235^ 
 
 parents on earth, or had he experienced none from 
 them ? Did lie come perchance from unbelief to- 
 faith, in opposition to them ? Well for him if he 
 then learned to lov :iim whose love exceeds that of 
 children and parents, whose love also fully compen- 
 sates for the want of it ; well for him if God lifted 
 him safely over the first missing round 9f the ladder 
 —but there is no occasion for us on that account to 
 break out that first round. As life goes on, the love 
 of God increases by means of love to our neighbour. 
 Here, too, natural instinct lends us its assistance.. 
 Compassion is a Divine help in learning, to love. 
 But too many make the mistake of taking compas- 
 sion for love, when it is only love's finger post. The 
 scribe's question : " Who is my neighbour ? " is that 
 of human nature. Selfishness will always be asking 
 it, but compassion alone will never answer it. Next 
 comes the assistance of conjugal love. What an ex- 
 cellent school of love is marriage. Thousands of 
 maiTiages are concluded amidst mucix talk of love,, 
 without a spark of the genuine article. That was 
 called love which was only instinct, and the very 
 elements of love are often first studied in married 
 life. Well for those who begin by loving and make 
 further progress afterwards. How could I, in writing 
 this, fail to think of your father and of our marriao-e, 
 and to praise the mercy of God which made it°so 
 easy to me to learn love bv experiencing so much of 
 it. 
 
 There is even a. lovp nf nhriaf wKi^Vi io ,r^i. 
 
 perfect love, but may become a stage to it. He is 
 
136 
 
 LETTERS FROM HEAVEN, 
 
 the fairest among the children of men, and a 
 human heart may therefore love Kim, the pure, 
 the gentle Son oi' man, the meek Sufferer, -vithout 
 quite understanding and quite embracing Him. 
 This love also is genuine as far as it goes, but it 
 must lead beyond itself. To it too. The word for 
 it is : Onwards ! 
 
 Yes, onwards to the perfect love of God, to love 
 towards all whom He loves. Even towards those 
 whom we know not. Love desires and learns to 
 know ; as love increases so does knowledge, until 
 at the time of perfection love and knowledge will 
 happily embrace all who dwell under the sceptre of 
 •Christ, upon the new earth. 
 And the lost also ? 
 
 On earth I was much occupied with the ques- 
 tion, " Whether there would not at last come a 
 time when the tires of hell would have burnt cat, 
 and the souls of the lost, purged and purified by 
 suffering, be brought to the one great flock of the 
 •one Shepherd." Your father told me that this hope 
 was shared by many earnest persons, and that it had 
 at least nothing in common with the weakly 
 expectation of those who conceive of heaven as the 
 place where all who have lived on earth will con- 
 tinue their lives in peace and unmolested by any 
 troubles. But even on earth the objection struck 
 me : " Would God, like a weak father, have only 
 threatened eternal condemnation, and could His 
 Son, who manifested to us the love of God, and 
 frequently spoke of the outer darkntss and the 
 •everlasting fire, have been mistaken ?" 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 237 
 
 , and a 
 le pure, 
 •vithout 
 g Him. 
 s, but it 
 vord for 
 
 to love 
 is those 
 earns to 
 ge, until 
 dge will 
 5eptre of 
 
 he ques- 
 come a 
 irnt out, 
 rifled by 
 k of the 
 :his liope 
 at it had 
 weakly 
 3n as the 
 ivill con- 
 l by any 
 n struck 
 lave only 
 (uld His 
 jrod, and 
 aud Uie 
 
 At the beginnini,r of my heavenly life this ques- 
 tion, " And the lost also ?" was still of conse- 
 quence to me. Now it is so no longer. I do not know 
 the lost. I do not feel compassion for them, I 
 cannot love them. 
 
 " That day shall declare it. (lod is love." 
 But think of earth and of those who live on 
 ' earth with you, who are lost, but who not merely 
 may, but ouglit to be saved. What happiness to be 
 allowed to lead a soul towards the seeking love of 
 God! If my letters contribute to disclose further 
 to you the love of God, nay, if they sliould be the 
 means of leading any lost and wandering soul 
 besides to the Saviour, whose glory I have tried to 
 show in the light indeed of heaven, but in the 
 dark speech of earth, a great thing would indeed' 
 be done, and I, one of the blessed, be more 
 blessed. 
 
 Eternal unfathomable ocean of love receive me, 
 that I may be submerged in thy waves. Not to be 
 lost therein as the drop in the sea — that would be 
 only an instant of supreme happiness, and I am 
 called to everlasting happiness. No, I would renew 
 my youth, would be renovated in Thy waves, that so 
 my very nature may become love, and that released 
 from the last particle of earthly life, delivered from 
 even the memory of earthly guilt, I may at last enter 
 upon the Kesurrection Life. 
 
XXXVI. 
 
 '•,,i.- 
 
 You are ill, seriously ill. An angel told me so. 
 I heard it with fervent thanksgiving to God 
 that I was no longer on eartli to receive such a mes- 
 sage. In hea^'en it sounds so differently. 
 
 I said to your father, naming your name: " Our 
 «on is ill." " This sickness is not unto death," said he. 
 " But come, I will take you to the Book olc Life. The 
 names bf all men were written there. Those of the 
 baptized shone brightly. All the days of their lives 
 were entered, with the value they Have for eternity. 
 Many names also were blotted out. But the names 
 of all still living' on earth were yet left. There I saw 
 also the course of your life, and your departure. I 
 do not know .whether I should, in the language of 
 «arth, call the time allotted to you long or short. To 
 me it seems short. But all the greater and more 
 glorious are the entries concerning your life. Prayers 
 heard beyond asking or thought — bright sunshine 
 and the peace of God at eventide — Hallelujah, Halle- 
 lujah ! 
 
 Since I have looked into the Book of Life the im- 
 pulse to communicate .with vou has ceased. A little 
 while and you will come sourself. Yoii will then 
 see, and we shall talk tf» ;Lher ! 
 
 Only once more will my motherly affection yearn 
 towards you. I shall once long, not to write, but to 
 come down to vou — whei vour hour is come. Oh 
 
LETTERS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 a39 
 
 •Id nie so. 
 I to God 
 h a mes- 
 
 le: " Oiu- 
 ," said he. 
 Life. The 
 36 of the 
 leir lives 
 eternity, 
 he names 
 3re I saw 
 irture. I 
 iguage of 
 ihort. To 
 ind more 
 , Prayers 
 sunshine 
 ih, Halle- 
 
 e the im- 
 
 A little 
 
 vill then 
 
 that angels may tlien prepare to accompany your 
 soul ! I should then say to them, " Let me go down, 
 that I may be near him in his dread hour, as he was 
 with me when I laid my head to rest. I will wipe 
 the death-sweat from his brow, I will smooth his 
 pillow for sleep. The most faithful wife, the most 
 affectionate children, could not smooth it like a 
 mother's hand. The welcome of my love greeted 
 him in the morning of life ; let it accfnnpany him 
 in its evening." 
 
 But the angel will forbid it, and say : '• Stay, our 
 Jian<ls are tenderer, and our arms softer than yours. 
 You could only smooth his pillow, we can bear him 
 upwards." 
 
 " Will they speak thus ? " Watch and pray ! 
 
 And I too watch and pray. But I will wait for 
 you at that hour at the gate of Paradise, hand in 
 hand with your dear loving father. His eye sparkles, 
 he has words of affection ready for you. You are 
 coming ! Not to the left, but to us, in the name of 
 Jesus — I stretch out my arms — blessed be God ! 
 
 Till then, undti- the protection of the All-m ciful 
 — farewell And when the time comes, in the 
 Savioiii tiaine, — farewell ! 
 
 on yearn 
 te, but to 
 )me. Oh