What we do, we had better do right away. The clock ticks now and we hear it. After a while the clock will tick and we will not hear it. Seated by a country fireside, I saw the fire kindle, blaze, and go out.
I gathered up from the hearth enough for profitable reflections. Our life is just like the fire on that hearth. We put on fresh fagots, and the fire bursts through and up and out, gay of flash, gay of crackle—emblem of boyhood. Then the fire reddens into coals; the heat is fiercer; and the more it is stirred the more it reddens.
With sweep of flame it cleaves its way until all the hearth glows with the intensity—emblem of full manhood. Then comes a whiteness to the coals. The heat lessens. The flickering shadows have died along the wall.
The fagots drop apart. The household hover over the expiring embers. The last breath of smoke has been lost in the chimney. The fire is out. Shovel up the white remains. Ashes!—TALMAGE.
