hich depends upon character--viz. destiny, both here and
yonder. And thus the most fleeting of our deeds, which in one aspect is
as transitory as the snow upon the great plains when the sun rises,
leaves everlasting traces upon ourselves and upon our condition. But yet
acts concerned with transitory things may have permanent fruit, or may
be as transient as the things with which they are concerned. And the
difference depends on the spirit in which they are done. If the roots
are only in the surface-skin of soil, when that is pared off the plant
goes. A life that is to be eternal must strike its roots through all the
superficial _humus_ down to the very heart of things. When its roots
twine themselves round God then the deeds which blossom from them will
blossom unfading for ever.

Think of men going empty-handed into another world, and saying, 'O Lord!
I made a big fortune in Manchester when I lived there, and I left it all
behind me'; or, 'I mastered a science, and one gleam of the light of
eternity has antiquated it'; or, 'I gained prizes, won my aims, and they
have all dropped from my hands, and here I stand, having to say in the
most tragic sense: Nothing in my hands I bring.' And another man dies in
the Lord, and his 'works do follow' him. It is not every vintage that
bears exportation. Some wines are mellowed by crossing the ocean; some
are turned into vinegar. The works of darkness are unfruitful because
they are transient.

And they are unfruitful because, whilst they last, they yield no real
satisfaction. The Apostle could say to another Church with a certainty
as to what the answer would be, 'What fruit had ye _then_'--when ye were
doing them--'in the things whereof ye are now ashamed?' And the answer
is 'None!' Of course, it is true that men do bad things because they
like them better than good. Of course, it is true that the misery of
mankind is that they have no appetite in the general for the only real
satisfaction. But it is also true that no man who feeds his heart and
mind on anything short of God is really at rest in anything that he does
or possesses. Occasional twinges of conscience, dim perceptions that
after all they are walking in a vain show; glimpses of nobler
possibilities, a vague unrest, an unwillingness to reflect and look the
facts of their condition in the face, like men that will not take stock
because they half suspect that they are insolvent--these are the
conditions that attach to all