Chapter VIII: An Echo From the Summer-Land

The Summer-land is so near to this mundane sphere of yours, my friends, that I am often led to question why it is you cannot often hear the sounds of its busy, active life. But I know that the din and bustle, the cares, turmoils, and perplexities of mortal existence have dulled your hearing, and sealed your senses to the beautiful, internal, ever-new life and activities of the spiritual universe, and that only in a few instances can you sense the presence and power of invisible, potent beings.

But I have to record one instance of perception of spiritual things, that I may term an echo from the Summer-land; an echo that brought music, heart-ease and peace to two weary, suffering human hearts, yet encased in the temple of flesh.

Recently a rare case of suffering and devotion has come to my knowledge. A woman, young in years, yet a mother and widow, was struggling on in spite of want, poverty, and pain, seeking to earn a subsistence for her two children, grew weary, faint, and exhausted, when her little ones were taken from her without a moment’s warning, and hurried into the spirit world by what you of earth call an accident. They were together at play, when an embankment caved in and buried them beneath its ruins.

The poor mother was nearly wild with grief. She became ill, and in a little time it was found that she could never see again. The shock to her system, together with previous exhaustion from over-work, had paralyzed the optic nerve, and she was blind.

Upon a lower floor of the humble tenement where this poor woman lived dwelt another, a noble soul, one who had seen better days, but had also been brought to a condition of extreme poverty by the hand of adversity. This was a poor, middle-aged woman, who was employed as night-nurse at a public hospital in the city. She had always presented a kindly, friendly manner to the widow and her children, but nothing of a special nature had been observed.

Suddenly, however, as the terrible catastrophe that hurled the two children into eternity occurred, this woman seemed to arouse to the distress of her neighbor; and when it was found that the poor woman was ill and in need, all the heroism of her nature was called forth. She hastened to the bedside of the suffering one, nursed and attended to her wants with rare devotion, neglected her own comfort for the sake of her neighbor, and finally gave up her situation at the hospital, in order to be with her at all times her presence was required.

At the time of the accident, as the situation of the poor mother became known, a few sympathetic persons contributed certain sums of money for her relief; but in a little while these became exhausted, and she was again penniless; then did the kind nurse take prompt action. Not content with caring for the sufferer, she brought her down to her own more comfortable apartments, shared her little store with her while it lasted, and watched and tended her like a mother caring for a well-loved child.

But the invalid was unhappy, aye, wildly unhappy. Her children dead, her home broken up, herself bereft of sight, a weak, miserable wreck of her former self, dependent upon the bounty of another, and that other a poor woman, almost a stranger,—what had she left to live for? Surely nothing, she thought, and daily she longed and prayed for death to come to her deliverance.

Before a great while, however, the slender resources of our nurse had given out; then it was that she sought and obtained a kind of cheap needle-work that she could take home, and at the same time attend to the wants of her charge.

These were dark days. Poverty, hunger, and cold sometimes stared them in the face; but still the noble woman faltered not in her labors of love, nor ceased to speak cheeringly and encouragingly to the helpless invalid she had chosen to burden herself with.

THE LESSON OF SELF-SACRIFICE.

Let me here pause to comment upon the noble, self-sacrificing spirit of this humble nurse. Impecunious herself, she could yet find something to spare for another; but far more than this, she could deprive herself of the necessities of life, and devote her time, attention and care to one who had no claim upon her, save as she appealed to the sympathies of a tender soul. Risking want and suffering for herself, she gave up her only means of support in order to be able to care for that other, and finally took that other into her own home, shared with her her own little all, depriving herself of health, strength, and much that makes life bearable, to comfort and sustain her charge. Can human love do more than this? Is spirit love more tender, more self-denying, more beautiful?

The Nazarene said: “As ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me;” and again, “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for another.” But better than the sacrifice of life is the constant denial of self, that continually blesses another at the expense of the individual.

Oh, Spiritualists, heed the lesson of this woman’s work as revealed to you in these pages; heed it well, for by such labors is the soul brought into communion with the angels and fitted to enjoy the blessings of heavenly life.

There are thousands of human hearts pining for some one to love, and for some one to love them; would they but look around them, and take an active, sympathetic interest in their fellow-creatures, they would speedily find some one to love, and would win a soul’s affection in return.

DAYS OF DARKNESS.

The days sped away, bringing only poverty and want to the little humble home. The brave woman fought nobly to keep the wolf from the door, but with ill success. The invalid still lay exhausted, weak and sightless, a helpless burden, constantly pining for a release that did not come.

Dark and dreary seemed the days before them; friends they had none, and their neighbors took no notice of them. Still the brave nurse resisted the sick woman’s plea to be sent away; well did she know that unkindness and neglect would become the portion of that suffering one, did she heed her request, and so she struggled on until the hour of which I write.

It would seem that human distress could go no further. It had been a day of suffering untold. Hunger, cold, and darkness settled down upon that little home, as the shades of night closed in upon a dreary March day. The last morsel of food had disappeared, the last stick of wood burned the day before.

Silence fell upon the inmates of that little room, for their anxiety and care were too great for words. A sense of feeling like despair settled upon their hearts; it seemed that the burden of life was too great to be borne.

WORDS OF CHEER FROM THE SPIRIT LAND.

Suddenly, through the stillness and darkness, there came a faint, sweet sound of children’s voices; like a far-off echo from some unseen land it fell, swelling louder and louder, until the tones could be distinctly heard, and these words sung in chorus floated upon the quiet atmosphere of that little room, made holy by the spirit of tender love and abnegation:—

“We come, we come from the Summer-land,
Our earthly friends to greet;
We come a happy, joyous band,
With blessings pure and sweet;
We bring you peace from Heaven above,
Where sorrows never come:
We call your spirits with our love
To their eternal home.”

A hush of holy quiet now fell upon the tortured hearts of the two women; peace indeed entered their souls, for in those angelic tones they recognized familiar voices,—the one, those of her two children, who had been so recently snatched away from her; the other, that of a beautiful boy who, years before, at the tender age of four years, had been called home to the angels, leaving her almost crazed with pain and grief.

The instance here recorded was the first echo our friends caught from the Summer-land,—nothing more, nothing less than that one little verse sang in the familiar tones of their departed children, and which were recognized as those of the voices of loved ones gone before.

Want of space compels me to be brief with my narrative. I must not dwell on the long, hard, cold winter which these two women were called upon to endure; I will only state that on the day following the blessed evening that brought such great comfort and peace to their weary hearts our good nurse succeeded in finding a little work, which continued from time to time, and yielded just enough income to purchase the plainest necessities of life.

Many times did these two women feel the pangs of hunger and cold; many times during that relentless winter did they almost despair of keeping life in the body; but after events proved these bitter experiences to have been refining, spiritualizing, and unfolding to their natures.

For two months after the spiritual experience which I have recorded occurred nothing more was heard or felt of a like character; yet the memory of that one beautiful hour lingered in the hearts of those women, and caused them often to speak in rejoicing tones of it. But at last the time came when our poor, sightless invalid began to hear whispered words and sweet sounds; lights of golden and azure hue flitted before her eyes, and finally she beheld smiling faces and shining forms,—first those of her dear children and departed husband, then others that she recognized as those of dear ones who had passed from earth life years before; and, at length, strange individuals, whom she did not know, yet who smiled upon her, bringing her messages of encouragement, hope and cheer.

Her faithful companion and friend had become obliged to leave the invalid daily for a few hours, in order to earn the trifle which she could obtain by menial service to others, and it was during these lonely hours that she beheld the glowing forms and listened to the spirit utterances of which I write.

Many an evening then did the two women spend in happiness together—the one in relating her pleasant spiritual experiences of the day, the other in listening eagerly to them; and though cold and hunger sometimes nipped them severely, yet there were no two happier beings in all that large city, for they had spiritual meat to eat, which others knew not of.

In describing some of the strange visitants who came to her, and mentioning the words they uttered, our invalid was delighted to find that they were recognized by her companion; and now a double joy was theirs, for through the unfolded medial powers of one, both were enabled to hold sweet and loving communion with their dear ones in the spirit world.

THE MISTS CLEARING AWAY.

It was a clear, cold Sabbath day in March; our friends were seated together in their humble room, conversing on spiritual things, when a rap upon the door of their apartment startled them,—for visitors they had none,—and in answer to the invitation “Come in,” a lady, clothed in heavy and costly apparel, entered. The lady proved to be the wife of a wealthy Spiritualist. She had been directed to this humble abode by the spirit of her child, who had told her, through a medium, that there she would find manifold evidences of spirit existence, and a medium of great power, poor and unknown, in need of assistance.

The events proved these statements to be true; for hardly had the lady entered than the medium beheld a bright light shining all around, and standing in this light were many spirits who spoke their names to her, and whispered messages of hope, coupled with words and sentences concerning their identity; and a power she could not withstand impelled her to describe those spirits and to repeat their words aloud. The visitor wept for joy at receiving such tokens of spirit power and presence; she recognized the spirits, both by their description and words, and for a time it seemed as though heaven had descended to earth, and was chiefly known in that almost barren home.

You may be sure the lady insisted on paying the poor, blind woman liberally for her services as medium that day, and departed promising to visit her again in a short time. And not only did she keep her promise, but sent her friends to the poor woman to receive a spiritual baptism. Not one went away disappointed; all were gratified with what they received, and paid for it with willing hearts. At length the visitors became so numerous that the good nurse found herself obliged to remain at home to attend to her charge and those who came daily.

Instead of the spiritual power lessening, it seemed to increase, and the medium grew strong and happy. All care of the morrow passed away, and the two friends now began to reap the harvest of their weary-watching and patient trust in God. Our good nurse found sweet compensation for all her hours of toil, self-denial and sacrifice; for she had not only some one to love and to love her, but the daily companionship of angels, and likewise the comforts that material means can furnish.

In a short time, our friends were enabled to remove from their humble abode to a neat brick house in the heart of the city, which they furnished with taste and an eye to comfort. Here business grew and thrived; here the two women lived and blessed each other, the one by providing means of existence, as well as imparting spiritual light, the other in tender helpfulness and care for her companion. And today these two individuals reside in one of your large cities, honored and respected by all who know them.

The spiritual work goes on; the medium has never regained her sight, but she is no longer the pale, emaciated, despairing being she once was. Angel friends have saved her from a living death, and she delights to impart their blessing unto others. She has never been obliged to advertise for business, for she has all she can attend to; and it is not for the wealthy alone she sits, for many a poor soul has received spiritual bounty from her, without money and without price; while it is the delight of our dear old nurse, strong and hearty in her well-doing, to minister to the bodily comforts of those who are in needy circumstances.

Occasionally she, too, listens to the sound of angel voices, and it makes her heart rejoice; but her grand work seems to be in caring for others.