Just across the street, a proud young mother is weighing her baby—a fine, healthy boy. What a fuss the little fellow is making indeed—screaming and kicking lustily! But the mother only smiles, and continues to move the weight carefully along, a little at a time. She fully realizes that the babe is not comfortable,—his position forbids that,—but she will comfort him after he has been weighed.
“Don’t be impatient, little man,” I said, “circumstances will change by and by; you’re only being weighed.” And this little incident started a train of thought.
We all remember the line from the quaint old song, “Men are only boys grown tall,” and the word “babes” might with perfect propriety be substituted for the word “boys.”
Come close to my side, boys, I want to talk with you—that’s right, you pale-faced lad with the nervous manner and the eager eyes—bring your chair close to mine. I hope God will give me words to say that you will remember.
Do you know, young man, that you are being weighed, too, both by the church and by the world, both by your friends and your enemies? When you spoke roughly and discourteously to your sister in the shop yesterday, I noticed the shopkeeper lift his eyes in astonishment. Yet you were surprised and disappointed to-day because he refused to give you employment in his store. The situation was a lucrative one, and one which you knew you were well able to fill. But I was not at all surprised; I knew he had been weighing you.
Jack Willis was a fine fellow; he had a good education, dressed well, had good manners, was courteous, polished, and well-bred. But he had one grave fault. He was not honest. I suppose if he had heard any one say he was dishonest, he would have been mortally offended. He always paid his debts, all but one. There was one debt he never paid; in fact, he boasted of his cleverness in avoiding it. A peculiar chain of circumstances had made it possible for him to avoid paying a large obligation to a railroad company. He argues to his friends that “corporations have no souls,”—he forgets that he has one. His own conscience protested at first, but he calmed his qualms by the continued assertion that everybody knows that railroad companies are dishonest, anyway. They would cheat me if they could. I can, so I will, cheat them; they will never feel it.
But two wrongs never made one right, and never will. The railroad company may be able to endure the loss of the money, they may “never feel it,” as you say, young man, but you will feel it, and you can not afford it. That dishonest deed will burn its way into the very citadel of your soul. It will destroy the foundations of integrity that the careful training of years has been building up.
When will young men learn that to be dishonest is to be dishonorable, and that it is quite as wrong to cheat a corporation as it is to defraud one person? We must learn to call sins by their right names.
What does it mean to be an honorable young man?—It means a clean life; it means pure lips; it means a tongue that scorns the foul jest and the obscene word; it means honesty toward all, whether it be corporations or individuals; it means integrity; it means a respectful sympathy toward the feeble, the aged, or the unfortunate; it means a life of sobriety, temperance, and honesty; it means eyes which will steadfastly refuse to look upon impurity, and ears which will not be regaled by recitals of vile stories or profane jests; it means hands which will not defile themselves with uncleanness, and feet which refuse to set themselves in the path of sin; it means a life of loving usefulness on earth and an eternity of happiness hereafter.
“But aren’t you putting it rather strong?!” you ask. “Can’t a young man be strictly honorable without being a Christian?”—The wise man says that before honor is humility, and humility is the very corner-stone of Christianity. So I claim that to be strictly honorable in every sense of the word, one must be a true Christian.
Further,—young man, hear me out! I wish I had it in my power to grasp every lad who is starting in the downward way, in the path of the drunkard and the libertine, by the collar of his coat; I would not let go my hold until I had shouted in his ear: “Young man, go home and read the seventh chapter of the book of Proverbs, and don’t stop till you have read and re-read the last verse. That verse tells you plainly just where you are going, and the horrible fate that awaits you unless you turn square about. In God’s name, read it and heed it.”
I read a little incident once that impressed me deeply. A gentleman, a minister of the Gospel, while traveling, became acquainted with a fine-appearing young man. Early in the morning he missed this young man; but he presently appeared, neatly washed, brushed, shaved, and attired in clean linen.
“I suppose you must be near the end of your journey, and want to be nice and clean,” said the minister.
“O, no, sir; I must ride a long distance yet, but I have learned that if one wants to find himself clean at the end of his journey, he must keep clean on the road.”
And it is even so in life. Occasionally, thank the Lord, we meet with those dear old people who are near the end of the journey, and who have kept clean all the way. No wonder that the hues of life’s sunset for them are radiant with splendor—a foretaste of the eternal weight of glory which shall be theirs.