Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/174

 touch each  other,  that  they  only  form,  as  I  may  say,  one  day:  and that, from  his  mother's  breast,  he  has  made  but  one  step  towards the grave. Nor is  this  the  bitterest  pang  which  he  experiences  in the  remembrance  of  his  pleasures;  they  have  vanished  like  a  dream; but he,  who  formerly  claimed  an  honour  to  himself  from  their  gratification, is  now  covered  with  confusion  and  shame  at  their  recollection:  so  many  shameful  excesses;  such  weakness  and  debauchery. He, who  piqued  himself  upon  reason,  elevation  of  mind, and haughtiness  toward  man;  O  my  God! he then  finds  himself the weakest,  the  most  despicable  of  sinners! Apparently, perhaps, a life  of  prudence,  yet  sunk  in  all  the  infamy  of  the  senses  and  the puerility of  the  passions! A life  of  glory  in  the  eyes  of  men;  but, in the  sight  of  God,  the  most  shameful,  the  most  deserving  of contempt  and  disgrace! A life  which  success,  perhaps,  had  continually accompanied;  yet,  nevertheless,  in  private,  the  most  absurd, the most  trifling,  the  most  destitute  of  reflection  and  wisdom!

Pleasures, in  a  word,  which  have  been  the  source  of  all  his  chagrins; which  have  empoisoned  every  enjoyment  of  life;  which  have changed his  happiest  days  into  days  of  madness  and  lamentation.

Pleasures for  which  he  has  ever  paid  dear,  and  of  which  he  has never experienced  but  the  anxieties  and  the  bitterness:  such  are the foundations  of  this  frivolous  happiness. His passions  alone have rendered  life  miserable  to  him;  and  the  only  moments  of  tranquillity he  has  enjoyed  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  are  those  in which  his  heart  has  been  sheltered  from  their  influence. "The days of  my  pleasures  are  fled,"  says  the  sinner  then  to  himself,  but  in  a disposition  of  mind  very  different  from  that  of  Job:  "  Those  days which  have  occasioned  all  the  sorrows  of  my  life,  by  which  my  rest has  been  broken,  and  the  calm  stillness  of  the  night  changed  into  the blackest  thoughts  and  uneasinesses:  yet,  nevertheless,  great  God! thou  wilt  still  punish  the  sorrows  and  distresses  of  my  unfortunate life!  All  the  bitterness  of  my  passions  is  marked  against  me  in the  book  of  thy  wrath;  and  thou  preparest  for  me,  in  addition  to gratifications  which  have  always  been  the  source  of  all  my  miseries, a  misery  without  an  end,  and  boundless."

Behold what  the  expiring  sinner  experiences  in  the  remembrance of the  past:  crimes  which  shall  endure  for  ever;  the  weaknesses  of childhood;  the  dissipations  of  youth;  the  passions  and  the  disorders of  a  more  advanced  period:  what  do  I  know,  perhaps  even the shameful  excesses  of  a  licentious  old  age. Ah! my brethren, whilst in  health,  we  perceive  only  the  surface  of  our  conscience;  we recall  only  a  vague  and  confused  remembrance  of  our  life;  we  see only the  passions  which  actually  enchain  us;  a  complete  life,  spent in the  habits  of  iniquity,  appears  to  us  only  a  single  crime:  but,  on the  bed  of  death,  the  darkness  spread  over  the  conscience  of  the sinner is  dissipated. The more  he  searches  into  his  heart,  the more does  he  discover  new  stains;  the  deeper  he  enters  into  that abyss, the  more  do  new  monsters  of  horror  present  themselves  to his  sight. He is  lost  in  the  chaos,  and  knows  not  how  to  proceed. To enlighten  it,  an  entire  new  life  would  be  necessary:  alas! and