The worst sluggards only ask for a little more sleep. They would be indignant if you called them thoroughly lazy! Just a little folding of the hands, a little more rest—that's all they want. And they have a crowd of reasons why they deserve it. Yet by these "littles" the whole day ebbs away. The time for work vanishes. The field grows over with thorns.

It is by little procrastinations that men ruin their souls. They have no intention to delay for years! Just a few months until a more convenient season. Tomorrow—yes, tomorrow they will attend to serious things. But the present hour? Too busy, too unsuitable. They beg to be excused. Like sand through an hourglass, time passes. Life is wasted by driblets. Seasons of grace lost in little slumbers.

Oh, to be wise! To catch the flying hour! To use the moments on the wing! May the Lord teach us this sacred wisdom—for otherwise a poverty of the worst sort awaits us. Eternal poverty! Where the soul shall want even a drop of water, and beg for it in vain.

Like a traveler steadily pursuing his journey, poverty overtakes the slothful. Each hour brings the dreaded pursuer nearer. He pauses not—he is on his master's business and must not tarry! As an armed man enters with authority and power, so shall want come to the idle, and death to the impenitent. There will be no escape.

O that men were wise in time! That they would seek diligently unto the Lord Jesus before the solemn day dawns when it will be too late to plow and sow, too late to repent and believe. In harvest, it is vain to lament that the seed time was neglected.

As yet, faith and holy decision are timely. May we obtain them this night!