themselves into one, that our time is essentially short, and that our
opportunities are very fugitive.

In one sense, no doubt, there is a long stretch of time before most of
you. As yet hope has more to say to you than memory. Some of you will
look back on these early days from the distant years of another century.
Your life's journey may extend far away over the unexplored future, and
may in some cases be a very long one; but, although this is possible, we
are not allowed to forget that it is always precarious--unexpected graves
are constantly reminding us how short may be the time of any one of
us--how the night cometh.

But it is not merely of the literal shortness of our time, or the
possible nearness of death, that our Lord's words should set us thinking,
when He warns us that the night cometh, and we must work while it is day.

If we measure our life by the things we should accomplish in it, by the
character it should attain to, by the purposes that should be bearing
fruit in it, and not by mere lapse of time, we soon come to feel how very
short it is, and the sense of present duty grows imperative. It is thus
that the thoughtful man looks at his life; and he feels that there is no
such thing as length of days which he can without blame live carelessly,
because in these careless days critical opportunities will have slipped
away irrecoverably; he will have drifted in his carelessness past some
turning-point which he will not see again, and have missed the so-called
chances that come no more.

But even this is only a part of the considerations that make our present
life so precious; for this is only the outer aspect of it. What makes
our time so critically short, whether we consider its intellectual or its