564. The Grand Review

The Grand Review

Rev_19:14 : ’93And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses.’94

We can not, in this age, understand the beauty and glory of the ancient horse. This animal comes to us through centuries of oppression and hard treatment, which have taken the gracefulness from his limbs and the flame from his eye and the arch of pomp from his neck. The finest horse that is now to be found prancing in the parks, an ancient king would not have been seen riding. Of old, the ox and the ass tilled the ground and carried the burdens; but the horse was used for coronations and triumphant processions, kings and chieftains sitting upon him. Job describes a war horse until I can almost hear the champing of his bit, and the clatter of his hoofs among the fallen shields. ’93Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength. He goeth forth to meet the armed men. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage. He saith among the trumpets, Ha! ha! and the smelleth the battle afar off; the thunder of the captains and the shouting.’94

When, my text, in figure, represents the armies of the glorified as riding upon white horses, it sets forth the strength, the fleetness, the victory, and the innocence of the redeemed. The horse has always been an emblem of strength. When startled by sudden sight or sound, how he plunges along the highway! The hand of the strong driver on the reins is like the grasp of a child. His hoofs strike fire, the harness is snapped, and the vehicle hurled over the rocks. With nostril panting, and foam flying in flakes, his head tossed on either side in wild triumph, he stops not for the missiles hurled at him, nor the loud whoa! whoa! of the multitude. Away he flies, irresistibly! Therefore, when the redeemed are represented as riding on white horses, their strength is set forth. The days of their invalidism and decrepitude are past. Never shall they be sick again or tired again. Take the strength of ten of the giants of earth, and the weakest inhabitant of heaven could master him. Oh, the day when, having put off the last physical impediment, you shall come to the mightiness of heavenly vigor! There will be hardly anything you cannot lift or crush or conquer.

The horse used in the text is also the emblem of fleetness. The wild horses on the plain, at the appearance of the hunter, make the miles slip under them as, with a snort, they bound away, and the dust rises in whirlwinds from their flying feet, until, far away, they halt with their faces to their pursuer, and neigh in gladness at their escape. More swift than they shall be the redeemed in heaven. Oh, the exhilaration of feeling that you can take worlds at a bound, vast distances instantly overcome’97no difference between here and there! Heaven is said to be the centre of the universe. If so, how swift must a messenger-spirit fly, in order to reach us in any crisis of peril! Light flies one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles a second, and yet there are worlds that have been created for ages whose light has only just reached us. If light, flying one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles a second, has taken ages to come from worlds this side of heaven, how swift must a messenger-spirit fly from heaven in order to minister unto us? Swifter than fleetest horse under lash or spur; swifter than eagle’92s wing, or light, are the redeemed.

The horse in the text is also a symbol of victory. He was not used on ordinary occasions; but the conqueror mounted him and rode on among the acclamations of the rejoicing multitudes. So all the redeemed of heaven are victors. Yea, they are more than conquerors through him that hath loved them.

My text places us on one of the many avenues of the Celestial City. The soldiers of God have come up from earthly battle and are on the parade. We shall not have time to see all the great hosts of the redeemed; but John, in my text, points out a few of the battalions: ’93And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses.’94 You have sometimes stood in a street, waiting for hours for a procession to come up. Then you saw great excitement in the street and heard unusual shouting and you knew that the procession was near. I hear the sound of the heavenly host advancing. The shout of the redeemed from the mansions and palaces of heaven seems nearer. The procession is in sight, the marshals of heaven clear the way, and the great Commander rides past at the head of the host.

The Roman victor, having slain at least five thousand men in battle, rode into the ancient city with a robe gold-embroidered; in one hand a laurel, in the other a sceptre; the captives going before, the army coming after; the whole population, in holiday dress, cheering them along the line. But in my text the heavenly Commander rides with the sword of universal triumph, and on his head are many crowns. All the city turns out to greet him’97the Conqueror of earth and heaven and hell. Strew flowers along the shining way! Wave all the banners of light! Ring all the bells of heaven! ’93Hosanna! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!’94

Now come on the battalions of the saved. Here pass the regiments of Christian martyrs. They endured all things for Christ. They were hounded; they were sawn asunder; they were hurled out of life. Here come the eighteen thousand Scotch Covenanters who perished in one persecution. Escaped from the clutches of Claverhouse and bloody M’92Kenzie and the horrors of the Grass Market, they ride in the great battalion of Scotch martyrs: Hugh M’92Kail and James Renwick, and others whose words are a battle-shout for the Church militant’97men of high cheek-bones and strong arms and consecrated spirits. Gray-friars Churchyard took some of their bodies, but heaven took all their souls. They went on weary feet through the glens of Scotland in times of persecution and crawled up the crags on their hands and knees; but now they follow the Christ, for whom they fought and bled, on white horses of triumph. Ride on, ye conquerors! Victors of Dunottar Castle and Bass Rock and Rutherglen! Ride on!

Here comes the regiment of English martyrs. Queen Mary against King Jesus made an uneven fight. The twenty thousand chariots of God coming down the steep of heaven will ride over any foe. Queen Mary thought that by sword and fire she had driven Protestants down, but she only drove them up. Here they pass: Bishop Hooper and Rogers prebendary of St. Paul’92s; and Archbishop Cranmer, who got his courage back in time to save his soul; and Anne Askew, who, at twenty-five years of age, rather than forsake her God, submitted first to the rack without a groan, and then went with bones so dislocated she must be carried on a chair to the stake, her last words, rising through flames, being a prayer for her murderers. Oh, cavalcade of men and women, whom God snatched up from the iron fingers of torture into eternal life! Ride on, O glorious regiment of English martyrs!

Look at this advancing host of a hundred thousand. Who are they? Look upon the flag and upon their uniform and tell us. They are the Protestants who fell on St. Bartholomew’92s day in Paris, in Lyons, in Orleans, in Bordeaux, while the king looked out of the window and cried, ’93Kill! kill!’94 What a night, followed by what a day! Who would think that these on white horses were tossed out of windows and manacled and torn and dragged and slain, until it seemed that the cause of God had perished and cities were illuminated with infernal joy and the cannon of St. Angelo thundered the triumph of hell! Their gashed and bespattered bodies were thrown into the Seine, but their souls went up out of a nation’92s shriek into the light of God; and now they pass along the boulevards of heaven.

Soldier of God, well done!

Rest be thy loved employ;

And while eternal ages run,

Rest in thy Master’92s joy.

Ride on, ye mounted troops of St. Bartholomew’92s Day!

Here comes up another host of the redeemed: the regiment of Christian philanthropists. They went down into the battlefields to take care of the wounded; they plunged into the damp and moldy prisons, and pleaded before God and human governors in behalf of the incarcerated; they preached Christ among the besotted populations of the city; they carried Bibles and bread into the garrets of pain; but in the sweet river of death they washed off the filth and the loathsomeness of those to whom they had administered. Now they pass through the streets of heaven in glorious review. There is John Howard, who circumnavigated the globe in the name of him who said: ’93I was in prison, and ye visited me.’94 What to him were the thanks of the House of Commons, or the recognition of all the governments of earth, compared with the joy of this day in which he rides on, followed by multitudes of those whom he found in dungeons of darkness and lazarettos of pain! Here go the Moravian missionaries, who were told that they could not go on a Christian errand to a hospital where the plague was raging unless they would consent to go in and never come out, yet deliberately making all arrangements and going in to take care of the sick and then lying down beside the dying, themselves to die. Here goes Eliot, who once toiled for Christ among savages, traveling on foot through the wilds, saying: ’93My feet are always wet, but I pull off my boots and wring my stockings and put them on again and go forward, trying to endure hardship as a good soldier of Jesus Christ,’94 defying the savages who bade him stop preaching or die, by saying to them: ’93I am about the work of the great God. Touch me if you dare!’94

The Maid of Saragossa, the angel of the Spanish battlefields, passes by. Elizabeth Fry, followed by those whom she showed the way from Newgate Prison to heaven. Grace Darling, of the strong oar and the sea-bird’92s wing, with which she once swooped to the drowning from Alnwick Castle. The good Samaritan, who put the wounded man on his horse, while he himself walked, now riding more firmly for that charitable dismounting. Thousands of men and women who served God, and grandly did their duty’97whole companies, regiments, and battalions. Pass on, great troop of God! It seems as if there were no end to it. Forward, ye army of Christian workers! Ride on, while the sufferers whom you healed and the ignorant whom you instructed and the abandoned whom you reclaimed come out on the streets of heaven to greet you! Ride on! Ride on!

Here comes a great column of the Christian poor. They always walked on earth. The only ride they ever had was in the hearse that took them to the Potter’92s Field. They went, day by day, poorly clad and meanly fed and insufficiently sheltered. They were jostled out of houses whose rent they could not pay and out of churches where their presence was an offense. Considering the insignificant way many of these went out of the world, the poor doctoring and the coarse shroud and the haste of the obsequies, you might have expected for them a tame reception on the other side; but a shining retinue was waiting beyond the river for their departing spirits; and as they passed a celestial escort confronted them and snow-white chargers of heaven were brought in and the conquerors mounted; and here they pass in the throng of the victors’97poorhouse exchanged for palace, rags for imperial attire, weary walking for seats on the white horses from the King’92s stable. Ride on, ye victors!

Another retinue: that of the Christian invalids. These who pass now languished for many a year on their couches. From the firmness and the strength and the exhilaration with which they ride, you would not have supposed that they had been bent double with ailments and had crouched with pains irremediable and writhed in sufferings that were ghastly to the beholder. But after twenty years of useless prescription and all surgery had failed, in one moment they recovered. The black groom named Death came out and put their foot in the stirrup and gave them one lift, by which in a moment they sprang upon white horses to ride forth’97conquerors forever.

I heard Thomas Stockton, in the midst of a sermon about the Good Land, stop and cough for two or three minutes, until it seemed as if he never would get his breath, and then go on again; but, recovering his strength, he put his hand upon his lungs, and said: ’93Thank God, there is no coughing in heaven!’94 He is well now. Eloquent Thomas Stockton! Glorious Thomas Stockton! I had a friend who preached the Gospel in the West. He was seized by a disease which must prove fatal unless he submitted to a surgical operation. The prospect was that he would die in the hands of the surgeon; but there was a faint hope of recovery, and so he felt it his duty to submit. One Sabbath morning he stood in his pulpit supporting himself by a chair, and said to his congregation: ’93My dear people, tomorrow morning I start for New York to submit to a surgical operation, which will probably take my life, but there is a faint hope that it may restore me; and that faint hope leads me to go, but it is probable I shall never see you again. I shall now proceed to preach to you my farewell sermon.’94 And then, with a face all illumined with joy and triumph, he said: ’93You will find my text in chapter four of Second Timothy, verses six and seven: ’91I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day.’92’93 The next Thursday morning, he was well; he was all well. In that land where they never say, ’93I am sick.’94 Ride on, ye great host of recovered invalids, in the triumphal procession of heaven!

Henry VIII brought Anne Boleyn to his palace. The river Thames was the scene of her triumphal entry. Fifty barges followed the lord mayor. Officials dressed in scarlet. Choirs chanting along the banks of the river. Flags adorned with bells that rang as the breeze stirred them. Anne Boleyn, in cloth of gold, and wearing a circlet of precious stones, stepped into the barge amidst the sound of trumpets and the shout of a kingdom; then, entering the street, seated on a richly caparisoned palfrey that sometimes walked on cloth of gold and velvet, led between houses adorned with scarlet and crimson, and defended by guards in coats of beaten gold, and along by fountains that were made on that day to pour out Rhenish wine for the people, until she at last, kneeling in Westminster Abbey, took the crown. But alas for the career of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn! They lived in worldliness and their splendor went out in darkness. Not so with those whom our King shall call to the honors of heaven. Along the river of death their barge shall glide amidst the shadows until it comes to the light of the city; and then, on streets of gold and amidst palaces of gold and greeted by harps of gold, they shall join the armies of the King, following on white horses.

But I cannot count the interminable troops of God as they pass’97the redeemed of all ages and lands and conditions. One hundred and forty-four generations of people have lived since the world was made; and consequently thousands of millions of people have died’97figures of which we can have no appreciation. A great proportion of these must have gone into glory, so that nothing but an archangel for a mathematician, with an arithmetic of eternity, could give any idea of the number who shall make up the throng that follow on white horses. Every hour the line is lengthening. They are going up by scores and by hundreds and thousands. At the beginning of this discourse, we took our position on the street of heaven to watch, but the first regiment has not passed yet; and I hear the clatter of the hosts still coming. Yea, stand at this point and watch until the century has gone and the world has perished and time has ended and myriads of ages have gone their slow round, still you will not have seen half of the first division who follow upon white horses. Go up on the highest tower of heaven; look to the north and look to the south; can you see the end? No! No! Coming! Coming! Forever and forever they pass on! ’93The armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses.’94

It has been to me a most anxious question’97Will you and I join that great procession? Not unless on earth we belonged to the Lord’92s army, and followed after the King. You must know that the cavalry of heaven that you see passing fought with the cavalry of hell; and that the archdemon has had his victories, and that those whom he conquers he carries away in chains, to be reserved in darkness until the great day. Which side are you on? Those who do not follow Christ on earth shall not triumph with him in heaven. If you are on the wrong side, you had better cross over. If you belong to the black cavalry instead of the white cavalry, you had better head the other way. Plunge the spurs into the flanks and dash up under the standard of the cross!

I suppose, of course, that what the text says about the white horses of heaven is figurative; and yet I know not but in some sense it may be literal. It has seemed to me incomprehensible that horses should be maltreated and whipped and killed by the cruelty of their owners and have no other state of being by way of compensation. My little child then six years of age was overheard telling her brother of four years that there would be a heaven for the birds and another heaven for the horses. I had not the courage to correct her defective theology. If I wake up at last in heaven and find real white horses for the redeemed to ride upon, I shall not be sorry; but for the present I must take my text figuratively and learn from it the fleetness and the victory and the strength of the redeemed. Rejoice, O ye righteous, in the glorious prospect!

When the Civil War was ended, and the returning army passed in review at Washington, among the most impressive sights were the horses on which the generals rode. But those horses had not been in battle. They had been picked up at the close of the war; they had carried no burdens; they had seen no hardships, but came prancing along the line with arched necks and rounded limbs and princely trappings and flying feet and flaming eye. As they bounded to the roll of the drum and the trumpet-blast, their drivers bowed on either side to the almost interminable huzza! Oh, when Christ our King shall return to heaven with all the armies of the saved’97nations and kingdoms and ages in the line’97may you and I, through the infinite mercy of the King, be among those who shall follow him in the great cavalry troop of the redeemed! That will be the Grand Review of heaven.

Autor: T. De Witt Talmage