Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/462

 The project  we  at  first  formed  of  a  new  life;  the  novelty  of  the lights which  shone  upon  us,  and  upon  which  we  had  not  as  yet fully opened  our  eyes;  the  lassitude  itself,  and  disgust  of  those passions of  which  our  heart  now  felt  only  the  bitterness  and  the punishment; the  novelty  of  the  occupations  which  we  proposed  to ourselves  in  a  change;  all  these  offered  smiling  images  to  our fancy: for  novelty  itself  is  pleasing:  but  this,  as  the  Gospel  says, was only  the  joy  of  a  season. In proportion  as  truth  drew  near,  it assumed  to  us,  as  to  Augustine,  yet  a  sinner,  an  appearance  less captivating and  smiling. When, after  our  first  glance,  as  I  may say, of  it,  we  had  leisurely  and  minutely  examined  the  various duties it  prescribed  to  us;  the  grievous  separations  which  were now to  be  a  law  to  us;  retirement,  prayer,  the  self-denials  which  it proved  to  be  indispensable;  that  serious,  occupied,  and  private  life in which  we  were  to  be  engaged; — ah! we immediately,  like  the young man  of  the  Gospel,  began  to  draw  back  sorrowful  and  uneasy; all our  passions  roused  up  fresh  obstacles  to  it;  every  thing  now presented itself  in  gloomy  and  totally  different  colours;  and  that which we  had  at  first  thought  to  be  so  attractive,  when  brought near, was  no  longer  in  our  eyes  but  a  frightful  object,  a  way  rugged, terrifying, and  impracticable  to  human  weakness.

Where are  the  souls,  who,  like  the  magi,  after  having  once  known the truth,  never  afterward  wish  to  see  but  it  alone;  have  no  longer eyes for  the  world,  for  its  empty  pleasures,  or  for  the  vanity  of  its pompous shows;  who  feel  no  delight  but  in  the  contemplation  of truth:  in  making  it  their  resource  in  every  affliction,  the  spur  of their  indolence,  their  succour  against  temptation,  and  the  purest delight of  their  soul? And how  vain,  puerile,  and  disgusting  doth the world,  with  all  its  pleasures,  hopes,  and  grandeurs,  indeed  appear to  a  soul  who  hath  known  thee,  O  my  God! and who  hath felt the  truth  of  thine  eternal  promises;  to  a  soul  who  feels  that whatever is  not  thee  is  unworthy  of  him:  and  who  considers  the earth only  as  the  country  of  those  who  must  perish  for  ever! Nothing is consolatory  to  him  but  what  opens  the  prospect  of  real  and lasting riches;  nothing  appears  worthy  of  his  regard  but  what  is to  endure  for  ever;  nothing  has  the  power  of  pleasing  him  but  what shall eternally  please  him:  nothing  is  longer  capable  of  attaching him but  that  which  he  is  no  more  to  lose;  and  all  the  trifling  objects of  vanity  are  no  longer,  on  his  part,  but  the  embarrassments of his  piety,  or  gloomy  monuments  which  recall  the  remembrance of his  crimes.

Behold, in  the  instance  of  the  magi,  truth  received  with  submission, with  sincerity,  and  with  delight;  in  the  conduct  of  the  priests, let us  see  the  truth  dissembled;  and,  after  being  instructed  in  the use which  we  ought  to  make  of  truth  with  regard  to  ourselves,  let us learn  what  is  our  duty,  respecting  it,  to  others.

Part II. — The first  duty  required  of  us  by  the  law  of  charity toward our  brethren,  is  the  duty  of  truth. We are  not  bound  to bestow  on  all  men  our  attentions,  our  cares,  and  our  officious  ser-