Meditation XCVI.
Meditation XCVI.
TIME PAST NEVER RETURNS.
Under sail, June 16, 1758.
Foolish man thinks he is born to live to himself, and that he is master of his own time—to spend it as he pleases. But, alas! he is mistaken, for he should live to God, and spend his time to his glory. How watchful, then, should I be over my time!
First, because I cannot recall it when past. I cannot bring again my childish years, or fetch back my more advanced days. Now, on the sea, I cannot recall the time I spent on land; nor, when at land again, this time I spend at sea. Yes, I cannot lengthen out the minute, or make the passing moment stand still. I cannot say to time, as Joshua once did to the sun, "Stand still," for it is in continual progression. The sand-glass of my life pours down night and day; and though the gradual waste seems trifling, yet how soon shall the last sand be run out, and not a grain left! And then there is no turning of the glass again.
Secondly, As time cannot be recalled—so the things done in time cannot be undone. I cannot undo my deeds, unspeak my words, and unthink my thoughts. It would be less galling, did time fly off in a blank; but it is full of activity. So the soul is never idle—but is at work night and day, which we little think of. How would it mitigate our mournful reflections, if we could get our wicked deeds undone, and our bad actions annihilated! but still they are actions once done, and stand on record, to show either the mercy of God when we are pardoned, or to condemn us when we are judged. I said, time past never returns, for us to mend what we have done amiss. Misspent time is present to torment the wicked through eternity.
How cautious should I be in spending time which is so precious, and on which so much depends! The past is entirely lost, the present is on the wing, and the future is uncertain! The past is mine no more, the future never may be mine, and the present is mine but for a moment. In the time past I can do nothing, it has already fled. In the time present I can do little, as it is on the wing. And in the time to come, as it lies concealed, I know not what I may do.
So then, the present breathing, this very twinkling, the single moment, and 'naked now'—is mine without the least appendix of time past or to come—but in reflection on the one, and expectation of the other. The present only is mine, which, while I use it, vanishes; while I possess it, passes away. In a little while the angel shall lift up his hand to heaven, and swear, by him that lives forever and ever—that time shall be no more. And as past time never returns, so the works I leave unfinished in time, cannot be wrought out in eternity. The foolish virgins will find no oil to buy in the eternal world. There is no acceptable repentance in the pit. There is no work nor device in the silent grave.
I see, then, that every moment of time is of great consequence to one on whose time, eternity depends. O to spend that well which is so valuable, until acquitted in mercy at the end of time! Now, as time passes not to return, so all the things of time pass, both troubles and pleasures, never to return. But to render eternity, in all its glorious excellencies, a state of truest and sublimest happiness—it is a permanent, present, and abiding duration, and eternal now, that knows no after state, no futurity, or succession of revolving periods of time. Then, may it be my happiness, that when time passes from me, never to return—an eternity of glory, to consummate my bliss, may be present with me, never to pass away!
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