October 4, Morning
C. H. Spurgeon · Modern retelling
"At evening time it shall be light." — Zechariah 14:7 · KJV
We often look ahead with dread to the time of old age, forgetting that at evening it shall be light. To many saints, old age is the choicest season of their lives. A balmier air fans the sailor's cheek as he nears the shore of immortality; fewer waves ruffle his sea, and a quiet reigns, deep, still, and solemn. From the altar of age the flashes of youth's fire are gone, but the more real flame of earnest feeling remains. The pilgrims have reached the land of Beulah, that happy country whose days are as the days of heaven upon earth; angels visit it, heavenly breezes blow over it, flowers of paradise grow in it, and the air is filled with seraphic music. Some dwell here for years, others come to it only a few hours before their departure, but it is an Eden on earth. We may well long for the time when we shall rest in its shady groves, satisfied with hope until the time of full enjoyment comes. The setting sun seems larger than when it rode high in the sky, and a splendor of glory tinges all the clouds around its going down. Pain does not break the calm of age's sweet twilight, for strength made perfect in weakness bears it all with patience. Ripe fruits of choice experience are gathered as the rare feast of life's evening, and the soul prepares itself for rest. The Lord's people shall have light in the hour of death, too. Unbelief laments: the shadows fall, the night is coming, existence is ending. Ah no, cries faith, the night is far spent, the true day is at hand! Light is come — the light of immortality, the light of a Father's countenance. Gather up your feet in the bed; see the waiting bands of spirits! Angels waft you away. Farewell, beloved one; you are gone, you wave your hand. Ah, now it is light. The pearly gates are open, the golden streets shine in the jasper light. We cover our eyes, but you behold the unseen. Adieu, brother; you have light at evening, such as we have not yet.