September Twenty-seventh.
WATCHFULNESS.
"Watch, therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of Man cometh."—Matt. xxv. 13.
AMONG the many fine and beautiful figures and modes of reasoning that the universe in which we dwell, has afforded for the illustration of the bright hope that is within us of a life renewed beyond the grave, there is none more beautiful or more exquisite than that which is derived from the changes of the seasons. From the second life, that bursts forth in spring from objects apparently dead, and from the shadowing forth, in the renovation of everything around us, of that future state which divine revelation calls upon our faith to believe shall yet be ours. The trees that have faded and remained dark and grey through the long dreary winter, are clothed again in green in the spring sunshine, and every leaf and every hue speaks again of life; the birds that were mute, sing again as tunefully as ever; the flowers that were trampled down and faded, burst forth once more in freshness and beauty; the streams break from the icy chains that held them; and the glorious sun itself appears to come wandering back from his far journey, giving warmth, and fertility, and magnificence to everything around. All that we see breathes of the same hope; everything we behold rekindles into life.
But, on the other hand, there are things within us that awake no more; there are feelings in our hearts that, passed away, return not; there are thoughts that
