The Clock of the Conscience

 •  1 min. read  •  grade level: 5
HAVE you ever heard of the great clock of St. Paul’s in London? At mid-day—when carriages, and waggons, and omnibuses go rolling through the streets—how many never hear that great clock strike unless they live very near it. But when the work of the day is over, and the roar of business has passed away—when men are gone to sleep, and silence reigns in London, then, at twelve, at one, at two, at three, at four, the sound of that clock may be heard for miles round. Twelve! —one! —two! —three! —four! How that clock is heard by many a sleepless man.
That clock is just like the conscience of the impenitent man. While he has health and strength, and goes on in the whirl of business, he will not hear his conscience. He drowns and silences its voice by plunging into the world. He will not allow the inner man to speak to him.
But the day will come when conscience will be heard, whether he likes it or not. The day will come when its voice will sound in his ears, and pierce like a sword. The time must come when he must retire from the world and lie down on the sickbed and look death in the face. And then the clock of conscience, that solemn clock, will sound in his heart; and if he has not repented, will bring wretchedness and misery to his soul. Oh no! write it down in the tablets of your hearts: Without repentance no peace!