The longest day has its close. The longest life is but for a moment.
"Behold, You have made my days as an handbreadth."
"We spend our years as a tale that is told."
"Man is like vanity and a breath; his days are as a shadow that passes away."
"What is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away."
Such is a true picture of the present life. It is "a handbreadth," "a shadow," "a tale that is told," "a passing vapor."
There are insects which are born at sunset, and before the sun arises, they are no more. There are flowers which open with the day, and before evening fade and die. So short an hour of existence is ours, if judged by the light of the eternity that follows.
"Every-day life" with its comforts and its cares, its joys and its sorrows, its evil and its good — does not long abide with us. Soon buried with us in the habitation appointed for all living — will be the schemes, and thoughts, and pursuits, that now engage the most of our time.
But what then? Has life no further issues? Shall the work of our hands, the words of our lips, the thoughts of our hearts — be heard of no more? Not so. There is a great day approaching. A reckoning must then be made. The book of a man's life, closed for a season, will then be reopened. The past shall have a voice given to it, so that not to hearken will be impossible.
In a quiet churchyard a few solemn words were inscribed over one who lay there: "What I was, the day of judgment will declare. Reader, what are you?"
It is written, "As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to Me, and every tongue shall confess to God. So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God." It is written again, "Behold the Judge stands at the door!"