ives receives, for which he must be "tormented;" and this is
another of the "evil things" which Lazarus receives, for which he must
be "comforted." It cannot be denied, that in this world the child of God
suffers more mental sorrow for sin, in a given period of time, than does
the insensible man of the world. If we could look into the soul of a
faithful disciple of Christ, we should discover that not a day passes, in
which his conscience does not reproach him for sins of thought, word, or
deed; in which he does not struggle with some bosom sin, until he is so
weary that he cries out: "Oh that I had wings like a dove, so that I
might fly away, and be at rest." Some of the most exemplary members of
the Church go mourning from day to day, because their hearts are still so
far from their God and Saviour, and their lives fall so far short of what
they desire them to be.[2] Their experience is not a positively wretched
one, like that of an unforgiven sinner when he is feeling the stings of
conscience. They are forgiven. The expiating blood has soothed the
ulcerated conscience, so that it no longer stings and burns. They have
hope in God's mercy. Still, they are in grief and sorrow for sin; and
their experience, in so far, is not a perfectly happy one, such as will
ultimately be their portion in a better world. "If in this life
only,"--says St. Paul,--"we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most
miserable" (1 Cor. xv. 19).

But the stupid and impenitent man, a luxurious Dives, knows nothing of
all this. His days glide by with no twinges of conscience. What does he
know of the burden of sin? His conscience is dead asleep; perchance
seared as with a hot iron. He does wrong without any remorse; he disobeys
the express commands of God, without any misgivings or self-reproach. He
is "alive, without the law,"-as St. Paul expresses it. His eyes stand out
with fatness; and his heart, in the Psalmist's phrase, "is as fat as
grease" (Ps. cxix. 70). There is no religious sensibility in him. His sin
is a pleasure to him without any mixture of sorrow, because unattended by
any remorse of conscience. He is receiving his "good things" in this
life. His days pass by without any moral anxiety, and perchance as he
looks upon some meek and earnest disciple of Christ who is battling with
indwelling sin, and who, therefore, sometimes wears a grave countenance,
he wonders that any one should walk so soberly, so gloomily, in such a
cheery, such a