Consider this, gentlemen,
If ever there shall come a time in this life,
When the restlessness of it is not as rife,
When thou shalt put off thine mortal body,
When thine possessions gratify to no degree,
When thou art divested of sensual appetites,
When gone are the vain pleasures of nights,
That have so diverted thyself from thyself,
When nothing remains but thine proper self.
What, then, gentlemen, shall become of thee,
When thou shalt realize that there's a capacity,
A capacity in the very nature of thine very self,
That not a single thing in this world by itself,
Not riches or even honors can perfectly till up,
That no sensual gratification can fill up the cup?
What shalt thou do when at the end of thine hunt,
Thou seest there's a deeper, more essential want?
Suppose, gentlemen, there is something further,
Something to be attained by devotion to another,
And by withdrawal from the avocations of sense,
And by yielding of ourselves up to the influence,
Of a divine presence, and by raising our affections,
Making the infinite One the object of our intentions,
Suppose this further thing was arrived at, albeit in pain,
Wouldn't it be great to know such trust was not in vain?
Consider this, gentlemen.