by Rebecca Springer Originally titled  "Intra Muros" Published 1922

Within the Gates    No Night in Heaven     And so we talked until twilight fell. Often the question has been asked whether there was night there. Emphatically no! What we call day was full of glorious radiance, a roseate golden light which was everywhere. There is no language known to mortals that can describe this marvelous glory. It flooded the sky. After a period much longer than our longest earthly day, this glory mellowed and softened until it became a glowing twilight full of peace. The children ceased their playing beneath the trees, the little birds nestled among the vines, and all who had been busy in various ways throughout the day sought rest and quiet. But there was no darkness, no dusky shadows, only a restful softening of the glory. A Visit to the Grand Auditorium         Not long after this my brother said, "We shall go to the grand auditorium this morning; it will be a rare day even here. Martin Luther is to talk. This will be supplemented by a talk from John Wesley. There may also be other speakers."         It was not the first time we had visited this great auditorium, although I have not hitherto described it. It stood upon a slight hill, and the mighty dome was supported by massive columns of alternate amethyst and jasper. There were no walls to the vast edifice; only the great dome and supporting columns. A broad platform of precious marbles, inlaid in beautiful crystalline stones, arose from the center, from which the seats ascended on three sides, forming an immense amphitheater. The seats were of highly polished cedar wood; and back of the platform were heavy hangings of royal purple. An altar of solid pearl stood near the center of the platform. The great dome was deep and dark in its immensity, so that only the golden statues around its lower border were distinctly visible. All this I had noted from former visits.         When we entered, we found the building filled with people eagerly awaiting for what was to follow. We soon were seated and also waiting. Soft strains of melody floated about us, from an invisible choir, and before long Martin Luther, in the prime of vigorous manhood, ascended the steps and stood before us. It is not my purpose to dwell upon his appearance, so familiar to us all, except to say that his great intellect and spiritual strength seemed to have added to his already powerful physical physique, and made him a fit leader still, even in heavenly places.         His discourse would itself fill a volume, and could not be given, even in outline, in this brief sketch. He held us enthralled by the power of his will and of his eloquence. When at length he retired, John Wesley took his place, and the saintly beauty of his face, intensified by the heavenly light upon it, was wonderful. His discourse theme was "God's love," and if in the Earth life he dwelt upon it with power, he now swept our souls with the fire of his exaltation, until we were as wax in his hands. He showed what that love had done for us, and how an eternity of thanksgiving and praise could never repay it.         Silence, save for the faint, sweet melody of the unseen choir, rested upon the vast audience for some time after he had left. All seemed lost in contemplation of the theme so tenderly dwelt upon. Then the heavy curtains back of the platform parted, and a tall form, about Whom all the glory of Heaven seemed to center, emerged from their folds and advanced towards the middle of the platform. Instantly the vast concourse of souls arose to their feet, and burst forth as with one voice into that grand anthem in which we had so often joined on Earth:     "All hail to the power of Jesus' name;     let angels prostrate fall.     Bring forth the royal diadem     and crown Him Lord of all."         Such a grand chorus of voices, such unity, such harmony, such volume was never heard on Earth. It rose, it swelled, it seemed to fill not only the great auditorium but Heaven itself. And still, above it all we heard the voices of the angel choir, no longer breathing the soft sweet melody, but bursting forth into fervent songs of triumphant praise. A flood of glory seemed to fill the place, and looking upward we beheld the great dome ablaze with golden light, and the angelic forms of the no longer invisible choir in its midst, with their heavenly harps and viols, and their faces only a little less radiant than that of Him whose praise they sang. And He, before Whom all Heaven bowed in adoration, stood with uplifted face and kingly manner, the very God of Heaven and Earth. He was the center of all light and a divine radiance surrounded Him that was beyond compare.         As the hymn of praise and adoration ceased, all sank slowly to their knees, and every head was bowed and every face was covered as the angel choir chanted again the familiar words,         "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now, and shall ever be, world without end. Amen. Amen."         As I looked upon the glorious form before us, clothed in all the majesty of the Godhead, my heart tremblingly asked, "Can this indeed be Christ, Whom Pilate condemned to die an ignominious death upon the cross?" I could not accept it. It seemed impossible that any man, however vile, could be blind to the divinity so plainly revealed in Him.         Then the Savior began to speak, and the sweetness of His voice was far beyond the melody of the heavenly choir. And His gracious words! Would that I could, would that I dared, transcribe them as they fell from His lips. Earth has no language by which I could convey their lofty meaning. He first touched lightly upon the Earth life, and showed so wonderfully the link of the light uniting the two lives, the past with the present. Then He unfolded to us some of the earlier mysteries of the blessed life, and pointed out the joyous beauties just before us.         When He ceased, we sat with bowed heads as He withdrew. Our hearts were so enfolded, our souls so uplifted, our spirits so exalted, our whole being so permeated with His divinity, that when we arose we left the place silently and reverently, each bearing away a heart filled with higher, more divine aspirations, and clearer views of the blessed life upon which we were permitted to enter.         I can touch but lightly upon these heavenly joys. There is a depth, a mystery to all that pertains to the divine life, which I dare not try to transcribe. I could not if I would, I would not if I could. A sacredness enfolds all that curious eyes should not look upon. Suffice it to say that no joy we know on Earth, however rare, however sacred, can be more than the faintest shadow of the joy that we there find; no dreams of rapture, here unrealized, approach the bliss of even one moment in that divine world. No sorrow; no pain; no sickness; no death; no partings; no disappointments; no tears but those of joy; no broken hopes; no mislaid plans; no night, nor storm, nor shadows even; but light and joy and love and peace and rest forever and forever. "Amen," my heart says again reverently, "amen."

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