I do not know; but it is a pleasant dream to half-believe that this is true; for without these memory pictures being restored to us, how shall we know our loved ones in the beyond when we meet them again? If the grave swallows all our happy visions and dreams, the new life will find us as babes, beginning to learn the very things we forgot at death. Then all our present individuality would be lost, and the immortal part of us would be a stranger to the mortal creature that died. God might as well call new beings into existence, as an unknown and unknowable part of the original creature. Without a memory we would not be able to recognize our own soul, should we meet him in the spirit world. Hence a recollection of our dreams and our visions must go with us into the spirit world, or we must go as strangers without knowledge or a consciousness of the past. No use to be of immortal material, if the changes squeeze out memory pictures, for they are the tender chords that bind the two conditions together. Heaven must be a land where our dreams come true, or it would have no connection with this earth and this life. I once wrote a few verses on this subject, that have never yet been published. They fit in here very nicely: Is there a land where our dreams come true, The dreams that we dream when asleep; A land of love that is always new, Where the joyous never weep? And the dreams that we dream when wide awake, When the silence is on our soul, When we look far out where the shadows break, And the Dead sea billows roll. Oh, is there a land where we shall awake, From a dream that is full of sighs, In a land where the boughs of the green trees shake In the breezes that sweep the skies; And behold the faces we loved so dear— Who bade us the long adieu— And see them smile without sigh or tear, Oh, will ever our dreams come true? I dreamed last night my mother came And sang with the old-time charms, And called me “darling” just the same As when I slumbered in her arms. The vision changed; I was a man, A baby’s hand was on my face, Its warm breath on my cheek, and then I felt the baby’s warm embrace. It was my baby, long since dead, Her dreamy eyes were good to see; Its baby tongue moved, and it said: “Oh, isn’t it sweet to dream of me! Oh, papa dear, your cheeks are wet, Just like the flowers are wet with dew, But soon you’ll wake, and you’ll forget The land where all our dreams come true!” Oh, is there a land where our dreams come true— The dreams we are dreaming all day long? And do they almost come into our view When our souls are carried away with song? Will all our visions and day-dreams return The same as the seasons and song birds do? Will we meet the dear ones for whom we yearn In the land of immortals, where dreams come true?