A sponge, if left to itself, gives out by evaporation until it becomes hard and dry; and in such a state it is useless. Many people have drunk in the truth and delighted in it, but instead of pouring out to others, that they might be refilled, they have just given out by evaporation until they have become dry and formal and lifeless. That is the usual result with spiritual sponges. Who are those who are fat and flourishing, those who have showers of blessings? Are they the sponges? Nay, verily. “Give, and it shall be given.” “It is more blessed to give [to be a watering-can] than to receive [to be a sponge].” Now, face the question squarely. Which of these things are you? Look over the past year. Have you been ready for duty? Is your testimony always “ripe”—ready for the opportunity? Are you ready for service of any kind? If you have been a sponge, quit being one. Quit now. Get God to make something better of you. If we are not now sponges, we can soon become so by neglect of duty. The only safe way is to keep pouring out. TALK FIFTY-NINE. THE FINAL RETROSPECT There is a new grave in the cemetery today. An hour ago the sad-hearted mourners, with fast-falling tears, looked for the last time upon that familiar face. The light has gone out of the eye, and the sound of the voice is stilled forever. “Finis” has been written at the close of his life’s story. He no longer is. A few days ago he realized that the end was drawing nigh. Before that he had looked forward, and it seemed to him that his life might run on for years. But it was not so to be. The death-angel drew near, and he heard the sound of its coming wings. He then began to look backward, to see his life as a completed whole. He could now see life in its true light; for life does not appear the same when we look back upon it from the end as it does when our gaze is turned forward in the busy hurry of the days of health. When one is brought to the brink of the grave, life takes on a different aspect; it appears in its true perspective. We are usually so absorbed in the present that the past and the future have little place in our thoughts. Most lives are lived, not according to any plan or purpose, but according to the fleeting influence of the present moment. Reader, you and I are on the path to the cemetery. Some day, and it may not be far off, we shall look back over our lives from the end. Day by day, often with but little thought, we are building the structure of our lives. Yesterday we laid the foundation of today, and today we lay the foundation of tomorrow. Unless we lay a good foundation and build well thereon, when we look back upon our lives at the last we shall find much to regret. The wood, hay, and stubble of selfish works and selfish purposes will be burned up in the fire that will try every man’s work.