(Whitmore Winslow, written at the age of 14)
What a fallen creature is man!
Day by day calls forth more hidden depravity
of his heart; and yet his whole affections are
set upon the very object which is fostering
and encouraging that depravity.
His great ambition is to win the approbation
of the world; a world that slew the King of kings;
a world full of sin and sorrow, the medium by
which Satan endeavors to blind the eyes of the
children of men.
And yet, after all, what a vain world it is!
It promises much, but realizes nothing.
The more we expect pleasure, the more are we
disappointed in it.
Oh, what would man be, if instead of seeking
the friendship and the love of a dying world, he
would seek that of Jehovah!
And yet how prone are we to lament when we
are frowned upon by the world. If we did not
seek its smiles, we would not mind its frowns.
But the more we are delighted at the world's
praise, the more are we discomforted and made
unhappy by its disapprobation.
But take the world as a whole; what is it?
A speck in the universe; a ball floating in
the air, surrounded by other worlds greater
and more magnificent than itself.
Shall we love the world which hated and scorned,
and ultimately slew our beloved Redeemer?