What, I ask now, is here the power of his word _For: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also_? The meaning of the reason thus added is not obvious upon its surface. It has to be sought for because of its depth at once and its simplicity. But it is so complete, so imaginatively comprehensive, so immediately operative on the conscience through its poetic suggestiveness, that when it is once understood, there is nothing more to be said, but everything to be done. "Why not lay up for ourselves treasures upon earth?" "Because there the moth and rust and the thief come." "And so we should lose those treasures!" "Yes; by the moth and the rust and the thief." "Does the Lord then mean that the _reason_ for not laying up such treasures is their transitory and corruptible nature?" "No. He adds a _For_: 'For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.'" "Of course the heart will be where the treasure is; but what has that to do with the argument?" This: that what is with the treasure must fare as the treasure; that the heart which haunts the treasure-house where the moth and rust corrupt, will be exposed to the same ravages as the treasure, will itself be rusted and moth-eaten. Many a man, many a woman, fair and flourishing to see, is going about with a rusty moth-eaten heart within that form of strength or beauty. "But this is only a figure." True. But is the reality intended, less or more than the figure? Does not _the rust and the moth_ mean more than disease? And does not _the heart_ mean more than the heart? Does it not mean a deeper heart, the heart of your own self, not of your body? of the _self_ that suffers, not pain, but misery? of the self whose end is not comfort, or enjoyment, but blessedness, yea, ecstasy? a heart which is the inmost chamber wherein springs the divine fountain of your being? a heart which God regards, though you may never have known its existence, not even when its writhings under the gnawing of the moth and the slow fire of the rust have communicated a dull pain to that outer heart which sends the blood to its appointed course through your body? If God sees that heart corroded with the rust of cares, riddled into caverns and films by the worms of ambition and greed, then your heart is as God sees it, for God sees things as they are. And one day you will be compelled to see, nay, to _feel_ your heart as God sees it; and to know that the cankered thing which you have within you, a prey to the vilest of diseases, is indeed the centre of your being, your very heart.