o?"

"To GOD," answered the mother gravely, "who remembers them forever."

"Forever!" said the child. He bent his head, and, drawing closer to his
mother, murmured, "I am frightened!"

Which of us have not felt the same?

XXXIV.

One more solemn thought: How old are you? Nineteen. Have you reckoned the
number of minutes that have elapsed since your birth? The number is
startling: nine millions, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, two
hundred.... Each of those minutes has flown to GOD; GOD has examined them
and weighed them, and for them you must give account.

Each minute bears its own impress (as a coin bears the impress of the
Sovereign), and only those marked with the image of GOD will avail you for
eternity.

Is not this thought one to make you tremble?

"I never could understand," writes Guerin, "the feeling of security some
have that their works must find favor with GOD--as if our duties were
confined to the narrow limits of this little world. To be a good son,
statesman, or brother, is not all that is required of us; GOD demands far
more than this from those for whom He has destined a crown of glory
hereafter."

XXXV.

One great characteristic of holiness is never to be exacting, never to
complain.

Each complaint drags us down a degree in our upward course.

By complaining, I do not mean the simple imparting of our troubles to
others.

Complaint savors always of a little bad temper, and a slightly vindictive
spirit.

* * * * *

The saints were never exacting.

Contented with their lot, they never desired anything that was withheld
from them.

"I have asked," said a holy soul, "for something I thought needful; they
have forgotten to answer me, or perhaps would not bestow it. Why need I be
disquieted? If it were really necessary, GOD would quickly provide means
to obtain it." How few could enter into this feeling; and yet it is but
the echo of CHRIST'S own words, "Your FATHER in Heaven knoweth that ye
have need of all these things."

XXXVI.

Joy in life is like oil in a lamp. When the oil gets low the wick is
consumed, emitting a black vapor, and sending forth only a lurid glow,
which does not give light.

A life without joy passes away unprofitably, shedding around it only gloom
and sorrow.

If every morning in a simple prayer,--in those fifteen minutes' meditation
(which only seem hard when we do not practise it),--we opened our hearts to
G