It will be good for each of us to ask ourselves, "What have I done for Him during the time? What progress have I made in my spiritual life? Have I grown, as Jesus grew, 'in favour with God and man' during these years?" Conscience will answer and can tell only the truth. Such communings with your own hearts are, however, for the quiet of your own chamber, when you have shut out the world and are alone with God. Still, it may be well for us all to have a talk about the preciousness of some things of which we are too apt to take little account. I wonder if you and I are in the habit of frittering away two invaluable gifts for which we have to give a strict account to our Father in heaven. These are, time and opportunity. I think I hear you ask, "What do you mean by frittering? The dictionary tells us that 'to fritter' is to diminish or pare off." I acknowledge that here we do not get quite the full meaning of the word "fritter" as we often use it in conversation. We rather understand by it the diminution of something by almost imperceptible degrees, of which no notice need be taken, because they are so small, and through the waste of which little loss is sustained by ourselves or others. There are things in this world which are of small value in certain places, because they are so abundant; yet, in another neighbourhood, their scarcity makes them of vital importance. For instance, if we have unfailing springs of pure water to draw upon, and all our neighbours are equally well supplied, what matters it if the pail overflows, or the tap is left running? But in another place where water is scarce, the waste of it would be sinful and cruel, especially if we were well supplied and our neighbours compelled to economise every drop. The child on the sea-shore flings the sand about with reckless hands, gathers shells and leaves them behind, or throws pebbles into the water, caring nothing what becomes of them. There is no need for care in such cases. The sea gathers the shells and pebbles and flings them back in orderly ridges on the shore. The embankments, laboriously raised by many small hands, and the trenches dug around them, are quickly equalised again. The mighty ocean sweeps all before it. Wave follows wave, and the grains of sand are hurried onward. Castles are levelled, trenches filled, and the retreating waters leave the beach smooth again and ready for the morrow's toilers. The last murmur of the waters seems to say, "You can fritter away nothing over which we flow. We gather your scattered fragments together, and not one grain is finally lost."