One more solemn thought: How old are you? Nineteen. Have you reckoned the number of minutes that have elapsed since your birth? The number is startling: nine millions, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, two hundred.... Each of those minutes has flown to God; God has examined them and weighed them, and for them you must give account.

Each minute bears its own impress (as a coin bears the impress of the Sovereign), and only those marked with the image of God will avail you for eternity.

Is not this thought one to make you tremble?

"I never could understand," writes GuÉrin, "the feeling of security some have that their works must find favor with God—as if our duties were confined to the narrow limits of this little [pg 074] world. To be a good son, statesman, or brother, is not all that is required of us; God demands far more than this from those for whom He has destined a crown of glory hereafter."