EPILOGUE: Consider the Work of God

          I close this book with the promised old story of a father and mother-Benjamin Palmer and his wife-who went to a beautiful cemetery to bury their teenage daughter "upon the bank of a stream whose gentle flow murmured a soft and constant dirge over the sleepers by its side." It was the very spot where nineteen years before they had buried an infant son and the place where they learned a lesson about the resurrection.

And so the pick-axe and the shovel threw aside the earth, which for many years had pressed upon the bosom of the infant. Only a few bones and the little skull. No, wait a second; and with trembling hand the father clipped one little curl from which the luster had faded, but twining still around the hollow temple. He placed it on the palm of his hand, without a word, before the eye of the mother. With a smothered cry she fell upon his neck. "It is our boy's; I see it as long ago, the soft lock that curled upon his temple." "Take it, Mother; it is to us the prophecy of the resurrection; the grave has not the power to destroy." The old tears were wept again, but through them God made the rainbow to shine.

          Each time I read this story, I am reminded of the small lock of John Cameron's hair that we keep among our mementoes of his life, and I look forward to the resurrection yet to come. On that day the dead in Christ shall rise to behold the face of the Savior whom they have loved; and I will be reunited with my son throughout eternity, never to part again. Such is the hope of all who die in Christ. "May we all meet in heaven at last," preached Charles Spurgeon, "and there we shall be happy forever."