"If, in my wanderings, My sun go down, Darkness encompass me, My rest a stone,— Still in my dreams I'll be Nearer, my God, to Thee— Nearer to Thee! "Then let my ways appear Steps unto heaven; All that Thou sendest me, In mercy given; Angels to beckon me, Nearer, my God, to Thee— Nearer to Thee! "Then, with my waking thoughts Bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs Bethels I'll raise; Still by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee— Nearer to Thee!" But a yet deeper meaning seems to be given to the sacred dream by the words of our Saviour, if it be indeed to Jacob's ladder that they allude as type. "Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man." What the patriarch beheld in a dream, faith views as a glorious reality. Christ, by His incarnation, linked heaven with earth; by His ascension, joined earth to heaven. He formed a pathway of light, by which the angels ascend and descend. Wherever we receive first into our hearts this glorious truth—first look unto the Saviour as the Way, the Truth, and the Life—that place becomes to us as memory's holy ground, and we can say, as the patriarch said, "This is none other but the house of God—this is the gate of heaven." Jacob's pillow and his mysterious dream naturally suggest to us meditation on the ministry of angels, of which glimpses are given to us ever and anon in Holy Writ. The bright tenants of a world unseen may be hovering near us, when we have little thought of their presence. How wondrous was the scene that opened on the servant of Elisha, when, at a time of imminent peril, the prophet's prayer, "Lord, open his eyes, that he may see," was granted! With chariots and horses the fierce enemy was encompassing the city; but lo! Above, a defence, before invisible, was seen to girdle round the prophet: horses and chariots of fire, the legions of Heaven, guarded the servant of God, and no puny arm of flesh had power to hurt one hair of his head. Were our eyes thus enabled to behold the spirits of light, we might see bright winged visitors entering, as familiar guests, the lowly cottage, the attic, the cellar—abodes which proud, luxurious sons of dust would not stoop to enter; we might see angels still encouraging a Peter in prison, refreshing a weary Elisha, rejoicing over a repentant sinner, or bending with celestial smiles over a dying Lazarus, waiting for the signal to welcome a seraph new-born to the skies. But on whatever missions of love these bright beings may come to our earth, we owe their ministry to the Lord of angels: they are "descending upon the Son of man." And we have our "ascending" angels too—those whose upward flight we fain would follow—blest ones, whom we dare not even wish to detain, as they mount: