You and I can understand the need for us to echo the prayer of the Psalmist, "So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."
How much teaching we need! What heedless and forgetful scholars we are! How constantly we need to be reminded of the value of that which we treat so lightly, waste so often, and lose with so little regret!
All other losses cause us trouble and generally sorrow. If the child, in hurrying to spend a halfpenny, loses its one precious coin, there is eager searching with the help of companions. Joy follows its recovery, or bitter tears are shed if it is not found.
The lost purse, or the jewel that has escaped from its setting, is neither forgotten nor deemed of slight consequence. It is sought, advertised for, and, if finally lost, is remembered with regret; the more so if it has been the gift of a friend.
The merchant will risk large sums in the hope of doubling them. If unsuccessful, he can hardly forgive himself for having thrown away that which he had. Losses of these kinds are thought of again and again in after days, and the face clouds over at the memory of them.
How few amongst those who have recklessly wasted moments, hours, and days, pause to take themselves to task, mourn over an irretrievable loss, and resolve, by God's help, to redeem the time that is left. As regards the season for making the new beginning, there is only one word to express the right one: now. Not a week hence. Not to-morrow. Not even an hour after the resolution has been come to; for time is flying always, and its redemption must begin with the moment which has revealed to us its infinite value. Henceforth we must be "misers in the use of time."
Time is often unwittingly wasted by thrifty people for want of due thought and calculation. How well I remember, in the earlier days of railway travelling, what anxiety to be in time for a train was evinced by old-fashioned people!
I used to stay in a country house which was several miles from a station, and my kindly host was so fearful of my missing the train, that he used to insist on my starting early enough to spend nearly an hour in waiting for it.
It was very difficult to turn that waiting time to any useful account, especially in the dim light of a wintry morning, for I had to catch the first train. I smile as I picture the little bare waiting-room and the scarcely-lighted fire, by which I sat and shivered and tried to cherish bright thoughts amidst dull surroundings.
Those who value their own time lightly are seldom scrupulous about wasting that of their neighbour. Have we not all been lectured, again and again, on the sin of unpunctuality?