"The God of all grace . . . make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you." Among the many monuments and epitaphs in S. Paul's Cathedral, there is a simple tablet to the memory of him who built it, and on the stone are engraved the words in Latin, "if you seek his monument, look around you!" And as you gaze upon the grandeur and beauty of the vast Cathedral, you feel that indeed the work of the architect is his best monument. He needs no sculptured tomb, no gorgeous trappings, no fulsome epitaph, to keep his memory green. The cunning hand has mouldered away this many a year, and the busy brain is still, as far as this world is concerned, but the work remains, and the builder cannot be forgotten. Now, this world is full of monuments raised by good and bad, some monuments of glory, others of shame. There have been monuments of human pride, like the tower of Babel, and the great city of Nebuchadnezzar, and God who resisteth the proud, has laid them even with the dust. There have been monuments of human wickedness, like Sodom, and like Pompeii, and God, who hateth sin, has buried them beneath the fiery tempest of His wrath. There have been monuments of human obstinacy and impenitence, like the deserted Temple of the Jews, where once God delighted to put His Name, and to receive worship. And again, the world is full of the monuments of the great, the gifted, and the good. We need not go farther than our own chief city, and its Churches. There we see carved in stone and marble the glories of Poet and Painter, King and Priest, Statesman and Warrior. But after all, my brothers, these are not the true monuments of these men. The stately Abbey may one day fall to ruin, the hand of violence may break and scatter those costly tombs, but the _memory_ of those who sleep there cannot die, their lives are their true monuments. Shakespeare's tomb may perish, but _Hamlet_ will live for ever. And men will honour Nelson by the memory of Trafalgar, and Wellington by the thought of Waterloo, though they may not recall one stone upon their sepulchres. My brothers, when we die no one will raise a grand memorial over us; they will not carve our story upon marble tombs. And yet, I tell you, we shall have our monument, we have it now, and we are building it ourselves each day we live. Yes, our life and our works are our monument, and it lasts for eternity. The good life stands like a fair carved memorial of white marble. The evil life stands too, like Lot's wife turned to a pillar of salt, a monument of sin and disobedience. "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever; Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness."