You and I, dear girl companions, have certain great trusts committed to us, which are neither visible nor tangible. We hold them in common with our neighbours, though they are not given to all in the same proportion. They are made up of littles, and yet, if we fritter them away, they are gone past recovery. We can no more regain the smallest portion than we can bring back the rain-drops which have fallen into the stream and are helping to hurry it seaward, or collect the grains of dust which the wind has whirled across the plain.
Time is one of these all-important trusts. Perhaps I should say the most important, for time and our natural life virtually mean the same thing. Do they not begin and end together, so far as we are concerned? Our first breath ushers us into the realm of time, and with our last we close our eyes on it for ever.
Does it not seem strange that any human being can be found who is careless about or forgetful of the preciousness of time? People hesitate to part with a penny unless they can be sure of receiving something of equal value in exchange. Yet the same persons think nothing of frittering away, without return, that which the wealth of the whole world cannot buy back for them.
It seems natural for the very young to think lightly of the flight of time. The world—in other words, time and life—is all before them. A day flies so quickly; an hour is a mere nothing. As to the minutes and moments! What are they more than the drops that make up the ocean, or the grains of sand that form its boundary wall? Who can exhaust these?
Time, to the child, is an inexhaustible ocean into which he cannot dip too freely. What if the tide recedes? It is sure to flow again, and is, indeed, ever flowing.
You and I have surely learned lessons as to the value of time to which the child would not care to listen even. Let us think together of the value of moments. They follow each other, and are swallowed in the ocean of eternity, but there is no reflux. Not one comes a second time. If an hour has been frittered away and we can show nothing for it, all that remains for us is to make the best possible use of its successors.
Very lately I heard a great preacher say, "We should be misers in the use of time and opportunity." Do we not value too highly what we call the riches of this world? We are sparing of our gold, or our silver—even of our pence—and yet we do not pause to take account of what is beyond all price.
Have you ever thought, dear girls, that you are threefold debtors as regards the use you make of this great trust, time? We are all debtors, in the first place, to God, and must account for the use or abuse of time to the great Giver of it. We are told to "redeem the time because the days are evil."
I have in my mind the words of an old writer and profound student of the Bible who says about the text I have just quoted, "Buying up those moments which others seem to throw away; steadily improving every present moment." "Time is that on which eternity depends. In time you are to get a preparation for the kingdom of God." "Perhaps the apostle means in general, embrace every opportunity to glorify God, benefit your own souls, and do good to men."
These words carry out the idea I have suggested as to our threefold debt in relation to the use of our time. We should be misers of it, that we may the more fully carry out our divine Master's will, follow His example, obey His commandment to love our neighbour as ourselves, and, in so doing, promote our own eternal welfare.