Deceitful Riches.

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Usually, when a wealthy worldling has died, many say, "O, he died rich—he has left a great estate!" Alas! the poor man has slept his sleep, lost his dream—and now he awakes, and he finds nothing in his hand! Where is his golden heap? Gone!

Only the rust of that heap is gone to witness against him! His mammon fails him—only the unrighteousness of it follows him—others have the use of it, only the abuse of it he carries to judgment with him!

He has made his friends, (as we say) but he has undone himself. Just so, that I may justly write this motto upon every one of his money-bags, "This is the price of blood!" Shall I then treasure up the price of blood!

No! Christ has entrusted me as a steward; therefore, what I have and need not, Christ shall have in his needy members. So transitory creatures, when they shall slide away—shall not carry me with them; but when I shall pass away—I shall carry them with me.