seems extinct or dormant; who acquiesce in their own modes of life, and never look forward into futurity, but gratify themselves within their own accustomed circle of amusements, or limit their thoughts by the attainment of their present pursuit; and, without suffering themselves to be interrupted by the unwelcome thoughts of death and judgment, congratulate themselves on their prudence or felicity, and rest satisfied with what the world can afford them; not that they doubt, but forget, a future state; not that they disbelieve their own immortality, but that they never consider it.
To these men it is surely proper to represent the shortness of life, and to remind them that human acquisitions and enjoyments are of few days; and that, whatever value may be assigned them by perverted opinions, they certainly want durability; that the fabrick of terrestrial happiness has no foundation that can long support it; that every hour, however enlivened by gaiety, or dignified by splendour, is a part subducted from the sum of life; that age advances alike upon the negligent and anxious; and that every moment of delight makes delight the shorter.
If reason forbids us to fix our hearts upon things which we are not certain of retaining, we violate a prohibition still stronger, when we suffer ourselves to place our happiness in that which must certainly be lost; yet such is all that this world affords us. Pleasures and honours must quickly perish, because life itself must soon be at an end.
But if it be folly to delight in advantages of uncertain tenure and short continuance, how great is the folly of preferring them to permanent and perpetual good! The man whose whole attention converges to this world, even if we suppose all his attempts prosperous, and all his wishes granted, gains only empty pleasure, which he cannot keep, at the cost of eternal happiness, which, if now neglected, he can never gain.
Let such men, therefore, seriously reflect, that "man
