When will it be my time to be eaten?

(Charles Spurgeon)

All men persist in thinking all men mortal, but themselves.

If there were a great monster in our city, which ate ten of the inhabitants alive every day — we would be dreadfully miserable, especially if we never knew when it would be our turn to be devoured!

If we were certain that it would eat all in our city by-and-bye, but would only eat ten in a day — we would all tremble as we passed by the huge monster's den, and say, "When will it be my time to be eaten?" This would cast a dark cloud over the whole metropolis, blacker than its usual fog.

But here is a monster, DEATH, which devours its hundreds at its meal. With its iron tongue, the funeral knell keeps crying out for more! Its greedy and insatiable throat is never filled — its teeth are never blunted — and its ravenous hunger is never satisfied.

And though it will be our turn by-and-bye to be devoured of this great monster — yet how little do we think about it!

All men persist in thinking all men mortal, but themselves.