thing which is in earnest, is striving toward perfection; everyone who is in earnest, finds that it is not here, that here are but the germs; the flower and fruit will, we trust, through the Blood of Jesus, unfold in eternity. Yet such as is the germ here, (well, if there be no canker!), such will the flower be in eternity. We all seem to ourselves to have energies, which are never completed here. We all seem to have a work to do, of which, at best, some fragments only are wrought out here. Year by year, all life long, we have to lay aside aspirations which we once had; works, for the glory of God, we have to leave undone for ever; the pyramid, which we would build for God, narrows as life goes on; well is it for him whose building has least of wood, hay, stubble in it, or is broken off the least unsatisfactorily! But these things, though evidences of the value of time, do, except as far as they are ensouled by the love of God, and the pure purpose of serving God in them, belong to time only. The eternal loss or gain of that power of loving God, which God, in His eternal love, desired that we should attain, is for eternity. Sloth, then, as a deadly sin, is a far more comprehensive, terrible, almost irreparable evil, than most of us have been apt to think of. Sloth, as mere idleness or want of exertion, is, in your seed-time of life, a greater disqualification to serve God hereafter, than you can now be aware of. No one is aware of the value of anything which he is wasting, while he is wasting it. The almost irreparable loss opens our eyes. Powers of mind, which are not developed in the due period of their development, are probably stunted for life. Habits of accurate thought, which are not formed then, are probably lost for life. Each period of life has its own ap pointed work; and it is rarely allowed to any one, to make present time do the work of the present and the past at once. Idleness is also, as you know, proverbially called “the mother of all the vices." It is Satan's own enclosure, his own special country, where he hunts and ensnares souls. Not relaxation, but relaxedness is a peril of souls. Relaxation, which is to fit for dutiful exertion afterwards, may be used to the glory of God, in thankfulness for the exuberant buoyant strength, which it vents, as much as the repairs of the daily decays of nature, which the Apostle instanced as a thing to be done to His glory, or as we may lay us down to rest in Jesus. It is well known how a Saint, when asked what he should do, if he knew that our Lord would come that night to judge, said that he should finish what he had then begun; for he had begun it for the glory of God, and for Him he should finish it. Yet what he so meant to finish was an ordinary game, certainly more used in his country than in ours by such as would lead lives devoted to God. It is not, then, what seems to some of us, even an undue measure of relaxation, which we should dread for you. We may dread that the habits of boyhood may be prolonged unduly into manhood. But this is scarce an evil. Be what you will, so that you retain the innocence and purity which belong to boyhood. Genuine gladness of heart is well pleasing to our Good Father, Who giveth us all things richly to enjoy, Who has decked His creation with gladness, the ray of Whose light transmutes the dullest things of earth into a radiance of almost heaven-born joy. Think not, it is joyousness of soul which loyal duty to your God could interfere with. How should it, since "love, joy, peace," are first-fruits of His out-poured, indwelling Spirit? It would transmute, engolden joy, not damp or quench it. How should rebellion against God spice joy? What joy is there in unseemly jest, or coarse ribaldry, or half-uttered, half-hinted filthiness, or insolence to the Name of God or to His Word? But the deepest fear for you, the deepest fear for us all, the all-comprehensive fear, is, not as to the waste of portions of time, but one universal waste of all. Much of life must pass in nothings. Waste seems to be a great law of this our world below. God scatters a profusion of His choicest gifts, and nothing seems to come of it. Sleep and its attendant offices mostly take one-third of our lives. Then there is in other ways the daily recruiting of nature's daily decays. Then the intercourse with others, what fruit brings it? employments, which we cannot call directly wrong; but what comes of them? The strongest brain cannot be ever at work (the worse for us, if it could), and we must perforce relax. What good is there in it all, even if we escape sin? If we are intellectual, our brains become little encyclopædias of a variegated knowledge. We forget far more than we remember; and what we do remember, what use can we make of the greatest portion of it? Solomon, whose wisdom the Queen of Sheba came from the ends of the earth to hear, sums up his own experience: "Of making many books there is no end, and greedy study is weariness of the flesh." What a life of fiery zeal it was, which Elijah summed up: "It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers!" Truly, if no more came of it all than we see, life were one waste. To see evils, and to be powerless to remedy them; to see men steering a goodly vessel, with precious merchandise, G straight upon the rocks, and counting it good service; to call, and there is none to answer; to labour, and the winds are contrary; what would this life be, if one counted the body of this life only, but labouring for the wind? But where, then, is the soul of this life? This it is which made me speak of the risk of one universal waste of time. For since, to us individually, time is that portion of days (few or more) which we live here on earth; and since the only adequate end of this life is to gain Him Who made us for His boundless bliss and love; and since He wills to communicate Himself to us in eternity in an almost infinite variety of degrees, according to our capacity to receive Him; and since our capacity to receive Him will vary endlessly, according to our use of His grace here, the power of love which we have acquired, the conformity to His blessed Image, the God-inworked likeness to God; then all of time, all of life is lost, in which a man does not lead the supernatural life of grace, does not grow in the capacity of loving God. This is the soul of every outward act, of every word, of every thought. It matters little what the body may be. It matters nothing whether it be the most menial act performed on this earth, or the highest intellectual achievement, whereby a God-gifted intellect unlocked some secret of God's creation. This is the body still, to be transfigured by the grace of God. The sun which illumines and gladdens this our orb has no more, if so much, relation to God, as the poor worm, which is trampled upon and dies. Even the meanest thing done to God, is of countless price; any, the most magnificent work done for any end out of God, is absolutely worthless. This, then, is the one secret of life, this its one undying interest; this alone gives unity to life, this alone makes life not objectless; this is abiding reality amid a world of shadows; this endures, while all around. perishes, to live to God. It may be, so thou art not living in sin, thou wouldest not have to change one outward act, certainly not one outward employment. The body would remain the same, at least in its great outlines. The studies, if they are right now, would be right still; the recreations, if they be innocent now' would continue still. Not the outward things would be changed, but thou. For such as a man's love is, such is he. And him thou lovest, for whom thou doest whatsoever thou doest. If thou doest them for ambition, for pride, for vainglory, for vanity, for human opinion or praise, these are thy gods; they are thy reward. "Verily, I say unto you, they have their reward;" have it, our Lord says, wholly to themselves 2; have it, not again to have it; have it to themselves in time, not again to have it in eternity. Dost thou them for God? God, ere thou hast done them, has laid up thy purpose among His treasures. When by His grace, thou hast done them to Him, thy act is stored up for thee, to be rewarded in the Great Day. Is God too little for thee? is He too low an object for thy ambition? is His Wisdom too narrow for thee to covet? is His love not fiery enough to kindle thy soul? God has made thee individually to be the object of His love. He created thee, when He might have created millions of beings less unworthy of His love. He created thee, with the whole good-will of His Infinite love resting on thee alone. He redeemed thee, |