planting corn, hunting wild beasts, pasturing cattle, and
having flocks of sheep. "The fashion of this world passeth away."

Great empires arise, the Chaldean or Assyrian, the Persian, the Greek,
these three. Do they last? "The fashion of this world passeth away."
A fourth arises; the mighty Roman Empire, extending over the whole
known world. The Roman poet wrote of it in the name of his false god,
Jupiter, "I put no bounds to this empire, neither of space nor of time,
I give it a kingdom without end." Was it so? We find scattered almost
everywhere in the old world where we travel traces of this mighty
empire, its roads, its castles, its palaces, its coins, but it is gone,
gone utterly away, swept away by the hordes of Gothic barbarians. "The
fashion of this world passeth away."

If we look back at the past times of our own country, what changes do
we see! the fashion ever changing, the fashion of government, the
fashion of religion, the fashion of dress, the fashion of architecture,
all is change, change, and change.

Have you ever seen fireworks? Have you seen the rockets rush up into
the air, casting a golden light, pouring forth sparks, and then
bursting, this one into a silvery globe of light, that one into a
thousand stars, crimson, blue, green, yellow, that again into sparks of
curling fire-dust? What became of them? Down they fall, and all that
remains is a stick and a bit of smouldering brown paper. The fashion
has wondrously changed. Are not these rockets figures of the life of
man? Up we rush in the eagerness of youth, and cast a light about us,
up, up, growing brighter, throwing out our stars and globes of light,
and then, "the fashion changeth," and we come down and are laid in our
graves, a little ash. Here is the man who was full of wealth and
honour, how he blazed as a sun, how he scattered his gold. "The
fashion changeth." He is now a crumbling bit of clay.

Here is the man who made such a noise in the parish, such a boaster, so
quarrelsome, so litigious, no one could come near him. "The fashion
changeth." He lies still as a mouse now, and can resent no injury done
to his dust.

Here is the active housewife, whose hand was always busily employed
sewing, darning, scouring, never idle for one minute, keeping her house
clean, and her children tidy. "The fashion changeth." She can stir no
hand, can think for no one any more.

II. Evilmerodach, king of Babylon, was wroth with Dani