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 amongst men; the dark grave is all that I have to expect. Your magnificent palaces, kings and princes of earth! your beautiful dwellings and mansions, rich ones of this world I do not belong to you, exclaims St. Augustine; "a man is but a guest in his own house;" he merely takes shelter in it for a brief space. My father or my grandparents, you say, have left me this house; it has been bequeathed to me, and has thus become mine. Quite right, continues the Saint, I know what you mean; your grandparents took shelter in this house, and then left it; so, too, it will be with you; in a short time you will have to leave it, and your descendants will take possession of it. But the grave is your true dwelling; of that you can say with certainty that it is your house, for you shall remain in it and it shall belong to you till the last day.

Every day brings us nearer to this house, and hardly is there one to be found to ask himself: where am I going? hardly one who thinks of or considers this question. The consequence of this neglect is that we set such a high value on temporal things and think so little of eternity. If we often reflected on this truth seriously and deeply: I am hastening to the grave, should we then plague ourselves so much with disturbing cares temporal and wearisome toil for the sake of the mortal body, or to amass money, or enjoy the pleasures of life, or gain the esteem of men? In God's name, what is the use of such inordinate desires? Imagine that you are looking at a prisoner condemned to death; he thinks of nothing but filling his barns with corn, his cellar with wine; he wants clothes made in the newest fashion; as he is brought to execution he sees a fine house, and asks at once whether it is for sale and what is the price of it, as he wishes to buy it for himself. What would you think of such a man, my dear brethren? Would you look on him as a wise man? fool! you would say to him; do you know where you are going to? To the gallows, to the place of execution, where you will be hung by the neck for an hour. Why, then, do you trouble yourself about fine houses and grand clothes, about corn and wine? Look after your soul, and see what you can do to make it happy in eternity.

Another has built a house on the Moselle, where the current confirmed is so strong that nothing can resist it. The rushing waters eat away the bank more and more every day, until at last they work