on past pain.  And I know not which of these causes of gaiety would be taken away or lessened by the earlier change from childhood to manhood.  True it is, that the question, “What must I do to be saved?” is a grave one, and must be considered seriously; but I do not suppose that any one proposes that a young person should never be serious at all.  True it is, again, that if we are living in folly and sin, this question may be a painful one; we might be gayer for a time without it.  But, then, the matter is, what is to become of us if we do not think of being saved?—­shall we be saved without thinking of it?  And what is it to be not saved but lost?  I cannot pretend to say that the thought of God would not very much disturb the peace and gaiety of an ungodly and sinful mind; that it would not interfere with the mirth of the bully, or the drunkard, or the reveller, or the glutton, or the idler, or the fool.  It would, no doubt; just as the hand that was seen to write on the wall threw a gloom over the guests at Belshazzar’s festival.  I never meant or mean to say, that the thought of God, or that God himself, can be other than a plague to those who do not love Him.  The thought of Him is their plague here; the sight of Him will be their judgment for ever.  But I suppose the point is, whether the thought of Him would cloud the gaiety of those who were striving to please Him.  It would cloud it as much, and be just as unwelcome and no more, as will be the very actual presence of our Lord to the righteous, when they shall see Him as He is.  Can that which we know to be able to make old age, and sickness, and poverty, many times full of comfort,—­can that make youth and health gloomy?  When to natural cheerfulness and sanguineness, are added a consciousness of God’s ever present care, and a knowledge of his rich promises, are we likely to be the more sad or the more unhappy?

What reason, then, is there for any one’s not anticipating the common progress of Christian manliness, and hastening; to exchange, as I said before, ignorance for wisdom, selfishness for unselfishness, carelessness for thoughtfulness?  I see no reason why we should not; but is there no reason why we should?  You are young, and for the most part strong and healthy; I grant that, humanly speaking, the chances of early death to any particular person among you are small.  But still, considering what life is, even to the youngest and strongest, it does seem a fearful risk to be living unredeemed; to be living in that state, that if we should happen to die, (it may be very unlikely, but still it is clearly possible,)—­that if we should happen to die, we should be most certainly lost for ever.  Risks, however, we do not mind; the chances, we think, are in our favour, and we will run the hazard.  It may be so; but he who delays to turn to God when the thought has been once put before him, is incurring something more than a risk.  He may not die these fifty or sixty years; we cannot