The Life of Duty, volume II | Page 9

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."
And this is specially true of the beauty of holiness. The palace of
Caesar, the ivory house of Ahab, the gorgeous home of Pilate, have

perished, but the loving tenderness of Ruth, the sweet ministry of Mary,
and the holy affection of S. John, stand as monuments before God
which shall never perish or decay. Never mind, my brothers, what sort
of tomb they give us, never mind what epitaph they write upon it, they
cannot know the truth. But let us try so to live near to Christ that our
life may be a monument of His love and pardoning grace, and of our
poor endeavour to do right. If we want to make our life a good
monument, we must ask God to help us in raising it. "Unless the Lord
build the house their labour is but lost that build it." Each one of us
needs the prayer of S. Peter in my text, "The God of all grace make you
perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you." Yes, we must be stablished
and settled, that is, we must have a good foundation to build on. We
must raise our monument on the foundation of a firm, trusting, humble
faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. On that basis we must strive each day to
build the life of duty, by just doing what God puts before us with all our
might. It matters not what our rank in life may be, whether we are
princes or farm labourers, merchants or petty traders, artizans or
cabinet ministers, officers in high command, or soldiers of the rank and
file, one thing has to be done by all--our duty, in that state of life where
God has placed us. Every piece of earnest work well done adds a
something to our monument. No matter whether it be the building of a
cathedral or a log hut, whether it be the making of a poem, or the
making of a pair of boots, work well done leaves its mark, and builds
our monument.
My brothers, we must not expect to find the life of duty always easy, or
the narrow way strewn with roses. But it is not for us to ask whether a
thing is pleasant, it is enough for us to know that it is right. The Duke
of Wellington once sent this message