esh is one thing
and the act of providing for the indulgence of them is another. When
a man, on the impulse of sudden provocation, wreaks his resentful
feelings upon the neighbor who has offended him, he is not at that
time preparing for the indulgence of a carnal feeling, but actually
indulging it. He is not at that time sowing, but reaping (such as it
is) a harvest of gratification. This distinction may serve to assist
our judgment in estimating the ungodliness of certain characters.
The rambling voluptuary who is carried along by every impulse, and
all whose powers of mental discipline are so enfeebled that he has
become the slave of every propensity, lives in the perpetual harvest
of criminal gratification. A daughter whose sole delight is in her
rapid transitions from one scene of expensive brilliancy to another,
who dissipates every care and fills every hour among the frivolities
and fascinations of her volatile society,--she leads a life than
which nothing can be imagined more opposite to a life of preparation
for the coming judgment or the coming eternity. Yet she _reaps_
rather than _sows_. It lies with another to gather the money which
purchaseth all things, and with her to taste the fruits of the
purchase. _It is the father who sows_. It is he who sits in busy and
brooding anxiety over his speculations, wrinkled, perhaps, by care,
and sobered by years into an utter distaste for the splendors and
insignificancies of fashionable life." The father sows, and he reaps
in his daughter's life.

"Painting for Eternity."

A famous painter was well known for the careful manner in which he
went about his work. When some one asked him why he took such pains,
he replied:

"Because I am painting for eternity."

It is a solemn thing to think that _the future will be the harvest
of the present_--that my condition in my dying hour may depend upon
my actions to-day! Belief in a future life and in a coming judgment
magnifies the importance of the present. Eternal issues depend upon
it. The opportunity for sowing will not last forever; it is slipping
through our fingers moment by moment; and the future can only reveal
the harvest of the seed sown now.

A sculptor once showed a visitor his studio. It was full of statues
of gods. One was very curious. The face was concealed by being
covered with hair, and there were wings on each foot.

"What is his name?" said the visitor.

"Opportunity," was the reply.

"Why is his