Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/173

 worlds which  is  nothing,  and  from  which  I  have  consequently  nothing to expect."

Yes, my  brethren,  it  is  in  that  last  moment  that  your  whole  life will present  itself  to  your  view;  but  in  very  different  colours  from those in  which  it  appears  to  you  to-day. At present  you  count upon services  performed  for  the  state;  places  which  you  have  filled; actions in  which  you  have  distinguished  yourselves;  wounds,  which still bear  testimony  to  your  valour;  the  number  of  your  campaigns; the splendour  of  your  orders;  all  these  appear  objects  of  importance and reality  to  you. The public  applauses  which  accompany  them; the rewards  with  which  they  are  followed;  the  fame  which  publishes them; the  distinctions  attached  to  them;  all  these  only  recall  your past days  to  you,  as  days  full,  occupied,  marked  each  by  some  memorable action,  and  by  events  worthy  of  being  for  ever  preserved  to posterity. You even  distinguished  yourselves,  in  your  own  minds, from those  indolent  characters  of  your  own  rank,  who  have  led  an obscure,  idle,  and  useless  life,  and  dishonoured  their  names  by  that slothful effeminacy  which  has  kept  them  always  groveling  in  the dust. But, on  the  bed  of  death,  in  that  last  moment  when  the world flies  off  and  eternity  approaches,  your  eyes  will  be  opened; the scene  will  be  changed;  the  illusion,  which  at  present  magnifies these objects,  will  be  dissipated. You will  see  things  as  they  really are; and  that  which  formerly  appeared  so  grand,  so  illustrious,  as it  was  done  only  for  the  sake  of  the  world,  of  glory,  of  fortune,  will no longer  appear  of  the  least  importance  to  you.

You will  no  longer  find  any  thing  real  in  your  life  but  what  you shall have  done  for  God;  nothing  praiseworthy  but  works  of  faith and of  piety;  nothing  great  but  what  will  merit  eternity;  and  a single  drop  of  cold  water  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  a  single tear shed  in  his  presence,  and  the  slightest  mortification  suffered for his  sake,  will  all  appear  more  precious,  more  estimable  to  you, than all  the  wonders  which  the  world  admires,  and  which  shall perish with  it.

Not that  the  dying  sinner  finds  only  cares  and  anxieties  thrown away in  his  past  life,  he  finds  the  remembrance  likewise  of  his pleasures; but  this  very  remembrance  depresses  and  overwhelms him: pleasures,  which  have  existed  only  for  a  moment:  he  now perceives that  he  has  sacrificed  his  soul,  and  his  eternal  welfare,  to a  fugitive  moment  of  passion  and  voluptuousness. Alas! life had appeared too  long  to  him  to  be  entirely  consecrated  to  God. He was afraid  to  adopt  too  early  the  side  of  virtue,  lest  he  should  be unable  to  support  its  duration,  its  weariness,  and  its  consequences. He looked  forward  to  the  years  he  had  still  to  run  as  to  an  immense space,  through  which  he  must  travel  under  the  weight  of the  cross,  and  separated  from  the  world  in  the  practice  of  Christian works. This idea  alone  had  always  suspended  his  good  intentions; and, in  order  to  return  to  God,  he  waited  the  last  stage  of  life  as the  one  in  which  perseverance  is  most  certain. What a  surprise in this  last  hour,  to  find  that  what  had  to  him  appeared  so  long  has in reality  been  but an  instant;  that  his  infancy  and  old  age  so  nearly