becomes a solemn thing. Far hence with all frivolity, and gaiety, and
THE power of the creature to do evil is as striking as is his powerlessness to undo it. He has power to blight a world, though he has no power to restore freshness to one faded leaf. He can kill, but he cannot make alive again one worm beneath his feet. He can ruin to an infinite extent; he cannot rectify one displaced atom.
What terrific responsibility is this? The thought of it is fitted to act on us with power.
1. It startles. Am I, a creature, a sinner, really possessed of such power of evil? How then can I be heedless as to the very least thing I do?
2. It saddens. Alas! what sorrow is likely to be mine,—doing all manner of evil, yet undoing none! Blighting everything, but freshening nothing!
3. It overawes. What an infinite greatness does this confer on me! What stupendous importance does it attach to everything in life! Every word or action tells either for evil or good; there is nothing little, nothing unmeaning.
4. It solemnises. In such a case there is no room for levity. Life becomes a solemn thing. Far hence with all frivolity, and gaiety, and idleness!
5. It animates. If such be my responsibility, then I have no time to lose. Up, and be doing! Lay out every moment well. For I can recall nothing; I can undo nothing. For good or for evil, there it stands.
The Sinner Returning