Will not heaven be well worth a life of obedience to the Word of God,
though obedience calls us through storms of persecutions, furnaces of
trials, oceans of tribulations, and years of toil and suffering? To Moses
the reproaches of Christ were greater treasures than the riches of Egypt,
"for he had respect unto the recompense of the reward." Sit quiet for a
moment and by a strong eye of faith look away into heaven and see that
bright mansion prepared for you. See those jasper walls, those pearly
gates, and those golden walks. See the crown of life, the harp of God, and
the light of the Lamb. Shall we not bear the trials of life a little
longer in patience? Shall we not be watchful to walk in God's ways and
obey him, that this rich inheritance may be ours forever? Methinks I can
hear a reply coming from the depths of many a sincere, trusting heart--
"Yes, I will live in humble obedience to God on earth, that I may be with
him forever in that celestial city of light." God bless you!
Beyond the shores of time and the kingdoms of this world is a kingdom
called the kingdom of heaven. It is the place where God has his great
white throne, around which the angels play upon their golden harps and
shout, "Blessing and honor and glory and praise and might be unto God
forever and ever." It is around this throne that those who have passed
through the tribulations and the trying scenes of this lower world and
burst through the gates of death are singing redemption's sweet song. Who
does not desire to join that happy, heavenly throng and wave those palms
and wear those white robes and sing those sweet songs over beyond the
shadowy vale of death? I seem to hear many voices saying, "I hope to be
among that blood-washed throng." Let me tell you in all tenderness and
love, but very plainly, that the realization of your hope depends entirely
upon how you live while here in this world. Oh, how much in that great and
awful future is depending upon our manner of life in this time-world! Let
us learn to live well, to be our best every day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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