Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/544

 of the  world;  make  only  fresh  motives  of  ambition  and  cupidity; always engrossed  either  by  their  fears  or  by  their  hopes;  always uneasy either  for  the  present  or  for  the  future;  never  tranquil,  all struggling for  quiet,  yet  every  moment  removing  themselves  farther and  farther  from  it.

O man! why art  thou  so  ingenious  in  rendering  thyself  miserable? Such is,  then,  the  reflection  of  the  believing  soul. That happiness thou seekest  is  more  easily  attained. It is  necessary  neither  to  traverse seas  nor  to  conquer  kingdoms. Depart not  from  thyself,  and thou wilt  be  happy.

How sweet  do  the  sorrows  of  virtue  then  appear  to  the  godly man, when  he  compares  them  with  the  cruel  chagrins  and  the  endless agitations  of  sinners! How transported  to  have  at  last  found a place  of  rest  and  of  safety,  while  he  sees  the  lovers  of  the  world still sadly  tossed  about,  at  the  mercy  of  the  passions  and  of  human hopes! Thus the  Israelites,  formerly  escaped  from  the  danger  of the  Red  Sea,  seeing  from  afar  Pharaoh  and  all  the  nobility  of  Egypt still at  the  mercy  of  the  waters,  felt  all  the  luxury  of  their  own safety, thought  the  barren  paths  of  the  desert  delightful,  and  were insensible to  every  hardship  of  their  journey;  and  comparing  their lot with  that  of  the  Egyptians,  far  from  giving  vent  to  a  complaint or a  murmur,  they  sung  with  Moses  that  divine  hymn  of  praise  and of thanksgiving,  in  which  are  celebrated,  with  such  magnificence, the wonders  and  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Lord.

Secondly. The injustice  of  the  world,  so  humbling  to  those  who love it,  when  they  see  themselves  forgotten,  neglected,  and  sacrificed to  unworthy  rivals,  is  also  a  fund  of  soothing  reflections  to  a soul  who  despises  it  and  fears  only  the  Lord. For, what  resource is left  to  a  sinner  who,  after  having  sacrificed  his  ease,  his  conscience, his  wealth,  his  youth,  and  his  health,  to  the  world  and  to his  masters;  after  having  submitted  in  silence  to  every  circumstance the most  mortifying  to  the  mind,  sees  at  once,  and  without  knowing why,  the  gates  of  favour  and  advancement  for  ever  shut  against him; sees  places  snatched  from  him  to  which  he  was  entitled  by his  services,  and  of  which  he  thought  himself  already  certain; threatened, should  he  dare  to  murmur,  with  the  loss  of  those  he still  enjoys;  forced  to  crouch  to  more  fortunate  rivals,  and  to  be  at the  beck  of  those  whom,  only  a  little  before,  he  had  deemed  unworthy of  even  receiving  his  orders? Shall he  retire  far  from  the world, to  evaporate,  in  continual  invectives  against  it,  the  spleen and the  rancour  of  his  heart,  and  thus  revenge  himself  of  the  injustice of  men? But of  what  avail  will  be  his  retirement? It will afford only  more  leisure  for  retrospection,  and  fewer  relaxations from chagrin. Shall he  try  to  console  himself  with  similar  examples? But our  misfortunes  never,  as  we  think,  resemble  those  of others;  and,  besides,  what  consolation  can  it  be  to  have  our  sorrows renewed  by  seeing  their  image  reflected  from  others? Shall he entrench  himself  in  strength  of  mind,  and  in  a  vain  philosophy? But, in  solitude,  reason  soon  descends  from  its  pride;  we  may  be philosophers  for  the  public,  but  we  are  only  men  with  ourselves.