Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/159

 take is  irremediable;  we  die  only  once,  and  our  past  folly  can  no more  serve  as  a  lesson  to  guard  us  from  future  error. Our misfortunes indeed  open  our  eyes;  but  these  new  lights,  which  dissipate our blindness,  become  useless,  by  the  immutability  of  our  state, and are  rather  a  cruel  knowledge  of  our  misery,  which  prepares  to tear  us  with  eternal  remorse,  and  to  occasion  the  most  grievous portion of  our  punishment,  than  wise  reflections  which  may  lead us to  repentance.

Upon what,  then,  can  you  justify  this  profound  and  incomprehensible neglect  of  your  last  day,  in  which  you  live? On youth,  which may seem  to  promise  you  many  years  yet  to  come?

Youth! But the  son  of  the  widow  of  Nain  was  young. Does death respect  ages  or  rank? Youth! But that  is  exactly  what makes me  tremble  for  you:  licentious  manners,  pleasures  to  excess, extravagant passions,  ambitious  desires,  the  dangers  of  war,  thirst for renown,  and  the  sallies  of  revenge;  is  it  not  during  the  pursuit or gratification  of  some  one  of  these  passions,  that  the  majority  of men  finish  their  career? Adonias, but  for  his  debaucheries,  might have lived  to  a  good  old  age;  Absalom,  but  for  his  ambition;  the king of  Sachem's  son,  but  for  his  love  of  Dinah;  Jonathan,  had glory not  dug  a  grave  for  him  in  the  mountains  of  Gilboa. Youth! Alas! it is  the  season  of  dangers,  and  the  rock  upon  which  life generally splits.

Once more,  then,  upon  what  do  you  found  your  hopes? On the strength  of  your  constitution? But what  is  the  best  established health? A spark  which  a  breath  shall  extinguish;  a  single day's sickness  is  sufficient  to  lay  low  the  most  robust. I examine not after  this,  whether  you  do  not  even  flatter  yourselves  on  this point; if  a  body,  exhausted  by  the  irregularities  of  youth,  do  not announce to  your  own  minds  the  sentence  of  death;  if  habitual  infirmities do  not  lay  open  before  you  the  gates  of  the  grave;  if  disagreeable indications  do  not  menace  you  with  some  sudden  accident. I wish  you  to  lengthen  out  your  days  even  beyond  your hopes. Alas! my brethren,  can  any  period  appear  long  which must at  last  come  to  an  end? Look back,  and  see  where  now  are your youthful  years? What trace  of  solid  joy  do  they  leave  in your  remembrance? Not more  than  a  vision  of  the  night;  you dream that  you  have  lived,  and  behold  all  that  is  left  to  you  of  it; all that  interval,  elapsed  from  your  birth  to  the  present  day,  is  like a rapid  flash,  whose  passage  the  eye,  far  from  dwelling  on,  can  with difficulty see. Had you  begun  to  live  even  with  the  world  itself, the past  would  now  appear  to  you  neither  longer  nor  more  real:  all the ages  elapsed  down  to  the  present  day  you  would  look  upon  as fugitive  instants;  all  the  nations  which  have  appeared  and  disappeared on  the  earth;  all  the  revolutions  of  empires  and  kingdoms; all those  grand  events  which  embellish  our  histories,  to  you  would be only  the  different  scenes  of  a  show  which  you  had  seen  concluded in  a  day. Recollect the  victories,  the  captured  cities,  the  glorious treaties,  the  magnificence,  the  splendid  events  of  the  first years of  this  reign;  most  of  you  have  not  only  witnessed,  but  have