elves; they have slipped away from us,
and

'We all are changed, by still degrees,
All but the basis of the soul.'

The self-conscious same man abides, and yet how different the same man
is! Our lives, then will zig-zag instead of keeping a straight course,
if we let desires that are limited by anything that we can see guide and
regulate us.

But, brethren, though it be a digression from my text, I cannot help
touching for a moment upon a yet sadder thought than that. There are
desires that _remain_, when the gratification of them has become
impossible. Sometimes the lust outlasts the world, sometimes the world
outlasts the lust; and one knows not whether is the sadder. There is a
hell upon earth for many of us who, having set our affections upon some
creatural object, and having had that withdrawn from us, are ready to
say, 'They have taken away my gods! And what shall I do?' And there is a
hell of the same sort waiting beyond those dark gates through which we
have all to pass, where men who never desired anything, except what the
world that has slipped out of their reluctant fingers could give them,
are shut up with impossible longings after a for-ever-vanished good.
'Father Abraham! a drop of water; for I am tormented in this flame.'
That is what men come to, if the fire of their lust burn after its
objects are withdrawn.

But let me remind you that this transiency of which I have been speaking
receives very strange treatment from most of us. I do not know that it
is altogether to be regretted that it so seldom comes to men's
consciousness. Perhaps it is right that it should not be uppermost in
our thoughts always; but yet there is no vindication for the entire
oblivion to which we condemn it. The march of these fleeting things is
like that of cavalry with their horses' feet wrapped in straw, in the
night, across the snow, silent and unnoticed. We cannot realise the
revolution of the earth, because everything partakes in it. We talk
about standing still, and we are whirling through space with
inconceivable rapidity. By a like illusion we deceive ourselves with the
notion of stability, when everything about us is hastening away. Some of
you do not like to be reminded of it, and think it a killjoy. You try to
get rid of the thought, and hide your head in the sand, and fancy that
the rest of your body presents no mark to the archer's arrow. Now surely
common sense says to all, that if there be some fact ce