These
two temples erected many long years ago in honour of a Hindoo Deity
named Naranay, now stand desolate piles in the dense jungle. Fallen
stones cover the ground and great trees grow from the interstices of
those that still hold together and retain a semblance of their original
shape. Confusion reigns supreme and the place that was once the scene of
mistaken worship, is now only the haunt of the wild beast and deadly
reptile. The thoughts which such a sight suggest, have been the theme of
many a moralist, but the great lesson it teaches cannot lose any of its
importance by repetition. Yet a consideration of the littleness of man
and the utter vanity of his proudest works is, I fear, distasteful to
most of us; we cannot bear to be forced to admit our own insignificance.
We go to church and cry "what is man that Thou art mindful of him," but
the words are but empty sounds. Our preachers may tell us that life is
but a shadow, but they speak to unwilling and heedless ears, and we go
on ignoring the fact, crying peace, and stifling our conscience by a
form of religion without godliness. We are arrogant, high-minded, puffed
up in our own conceit, and though there are many that would wish to be
considered holy, how few there are that are humble men of heart, and
time continues to repeat the old, old story, filling our grave-yards,
destroying our works; creation alone remaining stable, waiting for the
end.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64