“Pa,” said a little boy as he climbed to his father’s knee, and looked into his face as earnestly as if he understood the importance of the subject, “Pa, is your soul insured?”
“What are you thinking about, my son?” replied the agitated father. “Why do you ask that question?”
“Why, Pa, I heard Uncle George say that you had your house insured, and your life insured; but he didn’t believe you had thought of your soul, and he was afraid you would lose it; won’t you get it insured right away?”
The father leaned his head on his hand, and was silent. He owned broad acres of land that were covered with bountiful produce; his barns were even now filled with plenty, his buildings were all well covered by insurance; and as if that would not suffice for the maintenance of his wife and only child in case of his decease, he had, the day before, taken a life-policy for a large amount; yet not one thought had he given to his own immortal soul. On that which was to waste away and become part and parcel of its native dust he had spared no pains; but for that which was to live on and on through the long ages of eternity he had made no provision. “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?”