“What do you mean by ‘corruptible?’” said Sophy.
“That which time can destroy. Nothing in this world lasts for ever: flowers bloom and decay; the fruit which was delicious one week, the next is only fit to be thrown away; the loveliest face grows wrinkled; the finest form must soon turn to dust in the tomb.”
“I don’t like to think of such things,” said Sophy; “they make me sad.”
“They would make us sad, indeed, were this world our all. But we look forward, in faith, to a place where there is no corruption, no change, no death, because no sin; we hope to wear white robes in heaven which will never be defiled with a stain. Do you know, Sophy, what makes them so white?”
Sophy shook her head.
“We are all weak and sinful, less fit to appear before a holy God in our own righteousness, than you are to enter the Queen’s palace in those soiled garments. It is ‘the blood of Jesus Christ which cleanseth from all sin;’ through his merits, and his mercy, you may appear spotless before the judgment-seat of God, if you believe in him now, and ‘keep yourself from idols.’”
“I have nothing to do with idols,” said the girl peevishly.
“More perhaps than you think. Anything that you love better than the Lord is an idol. The miser loves money best; that is his idol.”
“Like old Levi, who half starves himself to scrape up pence,” interrupted Sophy.
“The ambitious man makes power his idol—some make their children their idols.”