By Rebecca Springer Originally titled  "Intra Muros" Published 1922

Within the Gates    Crossing Over     I WAS MANY HUNDREDS OF MILES AWAY from home and friends, and had been ill for many weeks. I was entirely among strangers, and my only attendant, though of a kindly disposition, knew nothing whatever about the duties of the sickroom; hence I had none of the many delicate attentions that keep up an invalid's failing strength. I'd had no nourishment of any kind for nearly three weeks, scarcely even water, and was greatly reduced in both flesh and strength. I had an unutterable longing for the presence of my distant loved ones, but they never came, they could not.         I lay in a large comfortable room, on the second floor of a house in Kentville. A large stained glass window opened upon a veranda fronting on the street. During much of my illness I lay with my face to the window. When the longing for distant faces and voices became more than I could bear, I prayed that the dear Christ would help me to realize His blessed presence; and that since loved ones of Earth could not minister to me, I might feel His presence. Especially did I not ask to be sustained should I be called to pass through the dark waters alone.         It was no idle prayer, and the response came swiftly and speedily. All anxieties and cares slipped away from me as a worn-out garment, and Christ's peace enfolded me. One morning, dark and cold and stormy, after a day and night of intense suffering, I seemed to be standing on the floor by the bed, in front of the stained glass window. Someone was standing by me, and when I looked up I saw it was my husband's favorite brother, who "crossed the river" many years ago.         "My dear brother Frank!" I cried out joyously. "How good of you to come!"         "It was a great joy to me that I could do so, little sister," he said gently. "Shall we go now?"          And he drew me toward the window. I turned my head and looked back into the room that somehow I felt I was about to leave forever. The attendant sat by the stove at the farther end, comfortably reading a newspaper; and on the bed turned toward the window lay a still white form, with the shadow of a smile on the poor worn face. My brother drew me gently, and I yielded, passing with him through the window, out on to the veranda, and from thence on down the street.         There I paused and said earnestly, "I cannot leave my husband Will and our dear son."         "They are not here, dear, but hundreds of miles away," he answered.         "Yes, I know, but they will be here. Oh Frank, they will need me--let me stay!" I pleaded.         "Would it not be better if I brought you back a little later, after they come?" he said with a kind smile.         "Would you certainly do so?" And with his assurance we started slowly up the street. But my heart clung to the dear ones whom I felt I would not see again on Earth, and several times I stopped and looked wistfully back the way we had come. He was very patient and gentle with me, waiting always until I was ready to proceed again.         At length he said, "You are so weak that I think I had better carry you." And without waiting for a reply, he stooped and lifted me in his arms, as though I had been a little child, and like a little child I yielded, resting my head upon his shoulder and laying my arm about his neck. It seemed so sweet after the long lonely struggle to have someone assume the responsibility of caring thus tenderly for me. Entering Paradise         He walked on with firm, swift steps, and I think I must have slept, for the next thing I knew I was sitting in a sheltered nook made by flowering shrubs upon the softest and most beautiful turf in the world, thickly studded with fragrant flowers, many of them flowers I had known and loved on Earth. In the first moment I observed how perfect in its way was every plant and flower.         And what a scene that was on which I looked as I rested upon this fragrant cushion. Away, far beyond the limit of my vision, stretched this wonderful swirl of grass and flowers. And out of it grew equally wonderful trees whose drooping branches were laden with exquisite blossoms and fruits of many kinds. I found myself thinking of St. John's vision on the Isle of Patmos, and the tree of life that grew in the midst of the garden, bearing "twelve manner of fruits, and whose leaves were for the healing of the nations."         Beneath the trees, in many happy groups, were little children laughing and playing, running hither and thither in their joy. All through the grounds older people were walking, sometimes in groups, sometimes by twos, sometimes alone, but all with an air of peacefulness and happiness that made itself felt by me, even a stranger. All were in spotless white, though many wore about them or carried in their hands clusters of beautiful flowers. As I looked upon their happy faces and their spotless robes, again I thought, "These are they which have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."

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