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The Spirit of Prophecy Volume 4
made immortal, and with the risen saints are caught up to meet
their Lord in the air. Friends long separated by death are united,
never more to part. Little children are borne by holy angels to their
mothers’ arms, and together, with songs of gladness, they ascend to
the city of God.
On each side of the cloudy chariot are wings, and beneath it
are living wheels; and as the chariot rolls upward, the wheels cry,
“Holy,” and the wings, as they move, cry, “Holy,” and the retinue of
angels cry, “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty.” And the people
of God shout “Alleluia!” as the chariot moves onward toward the
New Jerusalem.
Before entering the city, the saints are arranged in a hollow
square, with Jesus in the midst. In height he surpasses both the
saints and the angels. His majestic form and lovely countenance
can be seen by all in the square. Upon the heads of the overcomers
the Saviour, with his own right hand, places the crowns of glory.
For every saint there is a crown, bearing his new name, and the
inscription, “Holiness to the Lord.” In every hand is placed the
victor’s palm and the shining harp. The commanding angels strike
the note, and every voice is raised in grateful praise, every hand
sweeps the harp-strings with skillful touch, awaking sweet music in
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rich, melodious strains.
Before the ransomed throng is the holy city. Jesus opens wide the
pearly gates, and the nations that have kept the truth enter in. There
they behold the Paradise of God, the home of Adam in his innocency.
Then that voice, richer than any music that ever fell on mortal ear, is
heard, saying, “Your conflict is ended.” The Saviour’s countenance
beams with unutterable love as he welcomes the redeemed to the joy
of their Lord.
Suddenly there rings out upon the air an exultant cry of adoration.
The two Adams are about to meet. The Son of God is standing with
outstretched arms to receive the father of our race,—the being whom
he created, who sinned against his Maker, and for whose sin the
marks of the crucifixion are borne upon the Saviour’s form. As
Adam discerns the prints of the cruel nails, he does not fall upon
the bosom of his Lord, but in humiliation casts himself at his feet,
crying, “Worthy, worthy is the Lamb that was slain!” Tenderly the