Life that is aimless is both restless and forceless. How many a trumpet hangs on the walls of society, useless, voiceless and rusty! It has no luster and gives forth no music, and is losing the power to emit sound. What an hour of redemption, when some brave warrior lays hands on the long unused instrument, puts it to his lips and blows a bugle blast!
Young men—you whose life hangs idle, aimless, mute, while the right is battling with the wrong, would to God that some hero-spirit might set you quivering and resounding with the clarion-peal of a holy purpose to serve God and man! No work is so wearisome as doing nothing, and no self-sacrifice is so costly as self-indulgence. Could you wear the “magic skin” which makes sure the gratification of every selfish whim, it would shrink with every new carnal pleasure and so at last crush out all true life.
A.T. Pierson