Now, I have not to search for it; it is here before my face. To take care of my family, endure fatigue and exertion for them, to discharge with fidelity this office or employment committed to me, by which I earn my bread. I will set right to work to do it. It is little indeed that is required of me, but that little, and nothing else, is what God requires of me now. Thanks be to Him who has made my way plain before my face. In this way do things naturally distasteful and irksome become agreeable, when the love of God is spread over them. This desire for God's love will also moderate all excessive desire for the pleasures of the world. I do not speak now so much of sinful pleasures, as of allowing the heart to go too much after such as are allowed. Such liberty leads to sin by a short road. Our life is too important to be trifled away. God requires of us not to set our hearts on the pleasures or pomp of this world, because then it is sure to forget, what is of so much more importance, Himself. {287} Now, as soon as the soul in earnest perceives that indulgence is producing this effect, that she is losing the relish for the love of God and spiritual things, she is startled, and cannot but feel afflicted. What, she says, shall I barter away so immense a good for such trifles? The very pain this reflection causes weans her away from pleasure. She judges, and judges rightly, that a small enjoyment neglected for so high a motive, will bring a higher and better happiness. We all know this in every-day affairs. Most men prefer to neglect the pleasure of the moment when they see that they gain a greater one for themselves in the future. How provident, how temperate they are in early life to lay up an abundance for old age! What old age can compare with eternity? How strong then the motive of the soul to moderate all her earthly desires, that she may have time and opportunity to look out for that eternity. The ardent lover of God looks at every thing in such a light. Pleasure becomes irksome to him very soon, because he has something so much more important on his mind, that he cannot, and will not rest easy, unless it be attended to. {288} He is no longer a little child, and cannot amuse himself with running after butterflies the whole day. Besides, a greater pleasure has engrossed and filled up his soul, and leaves no room for trifles. It is the happiness of uniting himself to God. There is no drawback to this. After a day spent in trying, with all his heart, to please his God, he feels no regret for it at night, when he lies down on his pillow. He is not left uneasy, restless, and dissatisfied, as when pleasure, ease, and self-indulgence were his aim, but is full of tranquillity, full of hope, and full of the desire that his whole life may be thus spent in the same, or greater efforts, to please God. The pleasures of the world soon grow to be worthless in the eyes of such a man. With St. Paul he says: "_I account all things as dung, so that I may win