124 THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



land that is fairer than this, whose gates are of 

 pearl and whose streets are paved with gold. If 

 there is another land, may it be as fair as this ! 

 And a pair of bars will be gate enough, and 

 gravel, cinders, grass, even March mud, will do 

 for paving; for all that one will need there, as all 

 that one needs here — here in New England in 

 March — is to have " arctics " on one's feet and an 

 equator about one's heart. The desire for heaven 

 is natural enough, for how could one help want- 

 ing more after getting through with this? But he 

 sins and comes short of the glory of God who 

 would be quit of this world for the sake of a bet- 

 ter one. There is n't any better one. This one is 

 divine. And as for those dreams of heaven in old 

 books and monkish hymns, they cannot compare 

 for glory and for downright domestic possibilities 

 with the prospect of these snow-clad Hingham hills 

 from my window this brilliant winter morning. 



That "this world is not my resting-place" 

 almost any family man can believe nowadays, 

 but that "this world is not my home" I can't 

 believe at all. However poor a resting-place we 

 make of it, however certain of going hence upon 

 a "longe journey," we may not find this earth 



