Zechariah 14:7

Often we look forward with apprehension to the time of old age, forgetful that in the evening it will be light. To many saints, old age is the finest season in their lives. A milder air fans the mariner’s cheek as he nears the shore of immortality; fewer waves ruffle his sea; quiet reigns, deep, still, and solemn.

From the altar of age, the flashes of the fire of youth are gone, but the more real flame of earnest feeling remains. The pilgrims have reached the land Beulah, that happy country, whose days are as the days of heaven upon earth. Angels visit it, celestial gales blow over it, flowers of paradise grow in it, and the air is filled with seraphic music.

Some dwell here for years, and others come to it only a few hours before their departure, but it is an Eden on earth. We may well long for the time when we will recline in its shady groves and be satisfied with hope until the time of fruition comes.

The setting sun seems larger than when high in the sky, and a splendor of glory tinges all the clouds which surround his going down. Pain does not break the calm of the sweet twilight of age, for strength made perfect in weakness bears up with patience under it all. Ripe fruits of choice experience are gathered as the precious meal of life’s evening, and the soul prepares itself for rest.

The Lord’s people will also enjoy light in the hour of death. Unbelief laments; the shadows fall, the night is coming, existence is ending. Ah no, cries faith, the night is far spent, the true day is at hand. Light has come—the light of immortality, the light of a Father’s countenance. Gather up your feet in the bed; see the waiting bands of spirits! Angels waft you away. Farewell, beloved one, you are gone; you wave your hand. Ah, now it is light. The pearly gates are open; the golden streets shine in the jasper light. We cover our eyes, but you behold the unseen. Goodbye, brother, you have light at evening, such as we do not yet have.