their life is a whole.  A house?  No.  A cartload of bricks, tumbled down at random, would be a better metaphor.  A chain?  No!  A heap of links not linked.  Many of you live from hand to mouth.  Many of you have such unity in your life as comes from the pressure of the external circumstances of your trade or profession.  But for anything like the living consciousness that life is a whole, with a definite moral character for which you are responsible, it has never dawned upon your mind.  And so you go on haphazard, never bringing reflection to bear upon the trend and drift of your days; doing what you must do because your occupation is this, that, or the other thing; doing what you incline to do in the matter of recreation; now and then sporadically, and for a minute or two, bringing conscience to bear, and being very uncomfortable sometimes when you do.  But as for recognising the mystic solemnity of all these days of yours in that they are welded together, and are all tending to one end, and that each passing moment contributes its infinitesimal share to the awful solemn whole—­that has seldom entered your minds, and for a great many of you it has never had any effect in restraining or stimulating or regulating your conduct.

Then there is another consideration which this metaphor suggests—­viz. that the house is built up by slow degrees, brick upon brick, course by course, day by day, and moment by moment.  It is slow work, but certain work.  ‘Let every man take heed how he buildeth,’ and never despise the little things.  Very small bricks make a large house.

Then there is another consideration that I would suggest, and that is, you have to live in the house that you build.  Your deeds make the house that Christ is here speaking of.  Like the chrysalis that spins out of its own entrails the cocoon in which it lies, so are you spinning, to vary the metaphor, what you lodge in, until you eat your way through it, and pass into the next stage of being.  Our deeds seem transient, but although we are building on the sand we are building for Eternity, because, though the deeds are transient in appearance, they abide.

They abide in memory.  Some of you know how true that is.  Black memories haunt some of us, and there could be for some no worse hell than that God should say, ‘Son, remember.’  You have to live in the house that you build.  The deeds abide in habit.  They abide in limiting and determining what we can be and do in the future; and in a hundred other ways that I must not touch upon.  Only, I bring to you this question, and I pray God that you may listen to it and answer it:  What are you building?  A shop?  That is a noble ambition, is it not?  A pleasure-house?  That is worse.  A prison?  Some of you are rearing for your incarceration a jail where you will be tied and held by the cords of your sins, and whence you will be unable to break out.  Or are you building a temple?  If you are building on Christ it is all right.  Only take heed what you build on that foundation.