THE NIGHT OF WEEPING by Eliza H. Morton

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · April 22, 1880

FromThe Advent Review and Sabbath Herald, Vol. 55, No. 17

“THE NIGHT OF WEEPING.”

By Eliza H. Morton

BY ELIZA H. MORTON.

Youth and old age alike lift streaming eyes to Heaven; for all must know the night of tears. The babe that wept in its mother’s arms becomes a man, strong, yet tender and loving in his strength; suddenly his limbs grow weak, his cheeks turn pale, his eyelids close, and he must be carried as in “days of yore.” Mother’s arms are not strong enough now to lift her darling, and other hands bear him away to a narrow bed. Roses and green boughs cover the resting-place, but it is lonely, oh, so lonely! The sleeper is no longer restless and tearful, but mother’s eyes are dim, her heart is tempest-tossed, and she longs to lie down beside her son, and rise not until the break of day.

Death is the “root of wormwood that embittereth all things below.” The wild, bewitching music of the world’s careless song cannot cheer the spirits of those who mourn. Gilded walls, martial parade, and gay company cannot fill the one place in the heart made vacant by the Destroyer. Beauty, odor, and ointment, pearl, gold, and amaranth, all blended together, cannot still the sad, despairing cry of the sorrowing soul.

As the golden tints that gild the horizon melt and vanish away, so fair forms that brighten earthly homes fade and are seen no more. As the twinkling stars oftentimes leave their places among kindred orbs and disappear in darkness, so the keenest intellects glow for a season, and then are lost to the world.

“Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there?”

Is the life-work of millions for naught? Is the toil of ages lost in oblivion?

Thank God! the “dreamless rest” is not eternal; the bitter wail is not for aye. A sweet, long calm lies hidden in the future. The Infinite Beyond has no graves, no coffins, no tears. In the sorrowless land no voice will whisper, “Hush! be still; for death is on that couch, within these curtains! Tread softly, lest you should disturb the dead!” When the day breaks, the badge of mourning will be exchanged for a robe of white, and the “night of weeping” be lost in the “morning of joy.”

The world was fair in “days of old,” and “will be fairer still in days to come.” A purer sunshine than earth has ever known will settle o’er the land; a clearer atmosphere than man has ever breathed will encircle the globe; a greener verdure than mortal eye has ever seen will cover the plains; and a higher, grander life unfold itself to the children of men.

The “night of weeping” is dreary in its long loneliness; but we are nearing the borders of the sunny land, and soon our “mouths will be filled with laughter,” and our lips break forth in songs of joy and praise.