V. In the light of this subject I want to call your attention to a fact which may not have been rightly considered by five men in this house, and that is the fact that we must be brought into judgment for the employment of our physical organism.  Shoulder, brain, hand, foot—­we must answer in judgment for the use we have made of them.  Have they been used for the elevation of society or for its depression?  In proportion as our arm is strong and our step elastic will our account at last be intensified.  Thousands of sermons are preached to invalids.  I preach this sermon this morning to stout men and healthful women.  We must give to God an account for the right use of this physical organism.

These invalids have comparatively little to account for, perhaps.  They could not lift twenty pounds.  They could not walk half a mile without sitting down to rest.  In the preparation of this subject I have said to myself, how shall I account to God in judgment for the use of a body which never knew one moment of real sickness?  Rising up in judgment, standing beside the men and women who had only little physical energy, and yet consumed that energy in a conflagration of religious enthusiasm, how will we feel abashed!

Oh, men of the strong arm and the stout heart, what use are you making of your physical forces?  Will you be able to stand the test of that day when we must answer for the use of every talent, whether it were a physical energy, or a mental acumen, or a spiritual power?

The day approaches, and I see one who in this world was an invalid, and as she stands before the throne of God to answer she says, “I was sick all my days.  I had but very little strength, but I did as well as I could in being kind to those who were more sick and more suffering.”  And Christ will say, “Well done, faithful servant.”

And then a little child will stand before the throne, and she will say, “On earth I had a curvature of the spine, and I was very weak, and I was very sick; but I used to gather flowers out of the wild-wood and bring them to my sick mother, and she was comforted when she saw the sweet flowers out of the wild-wood.  I didn’t do much, but I did something.”  And Christ shall say, as He takes her up in His arm and kisses her, “Well done, well done, faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

What, then, will be said to us—­we to whom the Lord gave physical strength and continuous health?  Hark! it thunders again.  The judgment! the judgment!

I said to an old Scotch minister, who was one of the best friends I ever had, “Doctor, did you ever know Robert Pollock, the Scotch poet, who wrote ’The Course of Time’?” “Oh, yes,” he replied, “I knew him well; I was his classmate.”  And then the doctor went on to tell me how that the writing of “The Course of Time” exhausted the health of Robert Pollock, and he expired.  It seems as if no man could have such a glimpse of the day for which all other days were made as Robert Pollock had, and long survive that glimpse.  In the description of that day he says, among other things: