So, the trouble which detaches us from earth gives us new hope.  Sometimes the effect of our sorrows and annoyances and difficulties is to rivet us more firmly to earth.  The eye has a curious power, which they call persistence of vision, of retaining the impression made upon it, and therefore of seeming to see the object for a definite time after it has really been withdrawn.  If you whirl a bit of blazing stick round, you will see a circle of fire though there is only a point moving rapidly in the circle.  The eye has its memory like the soul.  And the soul has its power of persistence like the eye, and that power is sometimes kindled into activity by the fact of loss.  We often see our departed joys, and gaze upon them all the more eagerly for their departure.  The loss of dear ones should stamp their image on our hearts, and set it as in a golden glory.  But it sometimes does more than that; it sometimes makes us put the present with its duties impatiently away from us.  Vain regret, absorbed brooding over what is gone, a sorrow kept gaping long after it should have been healed, like a grave-mound off which desperate love has pulled turf and flowers, in the vain attempt to clasp the cold hand below—­in a word, the trouble that does not withdraw us from the present will never be a door of hope, but rather a grim gate for despair to come in at.

The trouble which knits us to God gives us new hope.  That bright form which comes down the narrow valley is His messenger and herald—­sent before His face.  All the light of hope is the reflection on our hearts of the light of God.  Her silver beams, which shed quietness over the darkness of earth, come only from that great Sun.  If our hope is to grow out of our sorrow, it must be because our sorrow drives us to God.  It is only when we by faith stand in His grace, and live in the conscious fellowship of peace with Him, that we rejoice in hope.  If we would see Hope drawing near to us, we must fix our eyes not on Jericho that lies behind among its palm-trees, though it has memories of conquests, and attractions of fertility and repose, nor on the corpse that lies below that pile of stones, nor on the narrow way and the strong enemy in front there; but higher up, on the blue sky that spreads peaceful above the highest summits of the pass, and from the heavens we shall see the angel coming to us.  Sorrow forsakes its own nature, and leads in its own opposite, when sorrow helps us to see God.  It clears away the thick trees, and lets the sunlight into the forest shades, and then in time corn will grow.  Hope is but the brightness that goes before God’s face, and if we would see it we must look at Him.