er loses anything. It is only a folded leaf. It is only a
closed book.

Though you be an octogenarian, though you be a nonagenarian, all the
thoughts and acts of your life are in your mind, whether you recall
them now or not, just as Macaulay's history is in two volumes,
although the volumes may be closed, and you can not see a word of
them, and will not until they are opened. As in the case of the
drowning man, the volume of memory was partly open, or the leaf partly
unrolled; in the case of the judgment the entire book will be opened,
so that everything will be displayed from preface to appendix.

You have seen self-registering instruments which recorded how many
revolutions they had made and what work they had done, so the
manufacturer could come days after and look at the instrument and find
just how many revolutions had been made, or how much work had been
accomplished. So the human mind is a self-registering instrument, and
it records all its past movements. Now that leaf, that
all-comprehensive leaf in your mind and mine this moment, the leaf of
judgment, brought out under the flash of the judgment throne, you can
easily see how all the past of our lives in an instant will be seen.
And so great and so resplendent will be the light of that throne that
not only this leaf in my heart and that leaf in your heart will be
revealed at a flash, but all the leaves will be opened, and you will
read not only your own character and your own history, but the
character and history of others.

In a military encampment the bugle sounded in one way means one thing,
and sounded in another way it means another thing. Bugle sounded in
one way means, "Prepare for sudden attack." Bugle sounded in another
way means, "To your tents, and let all the lights be put out." I have
to tell you, my brother, that the trumpet of the Old Testament, the
trumpet that was carried in the armies of olden times, and the trumpet
on the walls in olden times, in the last great day will give
significant reverberation. Old, worn-out, and exhausted Time, having
marched across decades and centuries and ages, will halt, and the sun
and the moon and the stars will halt with it. The trumpet! the
trumpet!

Peal the first: Under its power the sea will stretch itself out dead,
the white foam on the lip, in its crystal sarcophagus, and the
mountains will stagger and reel and stumble, and fall into the valleys
never to rise. Under one puff of that last cyclone al