Time passes faster
than we think. Our gray hairs gather apace above our
foreheads. And the treasure which we prized beyond price
in years bygone has perhaps, amid the cares of this
world, or in the deceitfulness of riches, been thrust on
one side, neglected, at last forgotten. How is it with
you, dear friends? Are you the man? Are you the woman?
Have you put on one side the very treasure of your
life,--as some careless housewife might lay aside on
a forgotten shelf this parcel or that, once so precious
to her? Dear friends, as the year draws to a close,
awaken from such neglect! Brush away the dust from these
forgotten caskets! Lift them from their hiding-places
and set them forth, even in your Christmas festivities.
Search and look!"
Poor Mrs. Molyneux had never wished before so
earnestly that a sermon might be done. She dared not
look round to see her husband for a while, but after one
of these invocations--not quite so terrible as the rest,
perhaps--she stole a glance that way, to find--that she
might have spared her anxiety. Two nights of "searching
and looking" had done their duty by the poor man, and
though his head was firm braced against the column which
rose from the side of their pew, his eyes were closed,
and his wife was relieved by the certainty that he was
listening, as those happy members of the human family
listen who assure me that they hear when their lids are
tight pressed over their eyeballs.
Pages:
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208