There is a real difference between the righteous and the 
    wicked. The one is the heir of bliss, the other the child of the curse. But 
    O how is the appearance misrepresented and inverted, in the eye of carnal 
    men! The wicked are accounted happy, and the saints the most miserable of 
    all men. But let us fight the worldlings with their own weapons. The wicked 
    are traveling through the evening twilight of declining grandeur—to the 
    darkness of eternal night. But the saints are marching through the growing 
    beams of morning light to the perpetual splendor of glory. 
    Truly, the wicked now seem to have the upper hand on the 
    godly, and their rod lies heavy on the back of the righteous; but they shall 
    be found on the left hand in the day when distinctions most avail, and over 
    them shall the godly have eternal dominion. The one may go mourning, and 
    pour out their complaint before God, while the others spend their days in 
    mirth, and rejoice at the sound of the organ. But the sorrow of the one 
    shall be turned into everlasting joy, while the songs of the other shall 
    issue in eternal howlings. 
    Great men weigh valuable in the balance of the world, 
    while the saints are accounted as the offscouring of all things. 
    Nevertheless, in the balance of the sanctuary, when both are weighed, the 
    sinner shall be found lacking—but "the precious sons of Zion shall be 
    comparable to fine gold." 
    Now, dare I calculate with the world, and call them 
    happy, whom the world counts happy? Or, more daring still, dare I choose to 
    be where happiness, sacred happiness, is not to be found? However beautiful 
    the evening be, it is soon black night; but however cloudy the morning be, 
    it is soon broad day. So it was with Dives, who, dragged from his luxurious 
    table and flowing cups, is plunged into the lake of fire, and lifts up his 
    eyes amidst devouring flames—parched, and petitioning for one drop of water 
    to cool his scorched tongue. While Lazarus, full of sores, and without 
    attendance at the inhospitable gate, except for the kindly dogs, is wafted 
    by angels from all his sorrows, and set down to banquet richly at the table 
    of eternal love. Surely, then, my choice shall be to live in their humble 
    condition; die in their hopeful condition; and rise to their happy 
    condition!