Mission of Life
LIFE! What depths of meaning in that simple word. What heart-struggles and earnest longings, what generous actions and glorious deeds – aye, and what deeds of darkness, too – deeds that would blush a demon’s cheek; and what burning tales of misery, crime and woe, deeply written in the hearts of earth’s suffering ones.
MAN! What a strange, mysterious being! How complicated in mechanism! How noble in dignity! How great in comprehension! How sublime in intellect! How God like in all his bearings!
When the Eternal spoke the omnific word and from chaotic darkness and confusion drew the living, breathing world; when He heaved the proud pillars of the universe, arched the broad, blue canopy of heaven, hollowed out the ocean’s coral bed and with His finger traced the course of earth’s thousand streams, adding beauty to beauty and glory to glory until angels and archangels gazed in wonder at the bright creations of the Infinite mind – all was considered as naught compared with the work yet to be accomplished. – Man was then created in the image of his maker, and endowed with that living principle – the immortal mind; that mind which can soar upon the wing- of Thought through the infinitude of space and mark out the bright courses of those radiant spheres, and reveal the hidden grandeur and glory of sun after sun, and system after system that roll on in the immensity beyond; that mind which can roll back the tide of centuries and read the mysteries of the past, and with the eye of Faith scans the boundless ocean of futurity; ay, more – that mind which lifts even the veil of the “holy of holys,” and searches into the designs of the infinite Himself.
Is man created with such faculties, endowed with such a mind, and with life before him, for no purpose? Hath he no labor to perform, no mission to fulfil? Nature, reason and revelation proclaim in one loud accord that man was made for labor – earnest, untiring labor, and that he has an important mission to fulfil. We are their led to enquire, what is this great mission for which we were designed? Is it in worship of mammon, whose devotees endure incredible hardships, brave the wildest dangers, cross boundless oceans and burning deserts, wrong their fellow man, coin the tears of orphans and the very life drop of poverty’s suffering children, fasten the galling chains of servitude upon their fellows – ay, and even their lives upon the unholy shrine of their great deity. O, man, how art thou fallen! Thou that wast “made a little lower than the angels,” that thou shouldst bow down and worship the paltry dust of the earth!
Or is it found in Pleasure’s flowery paths, whose votaries seek for happiness in the vain and sordid things of earth, who find enjoyment in the mazy dance, the bacchanahan cup, or at the festive board, who live out their existence (if living it can be called) revelling in epicurean luxury and ignoble ease, wasting the deathless energies of an immortal mind upon that which satisfieth not, go down to the grave “unwept, unhonored and unsung.”
Or is it in the pursuit of Fame, whose aspirants sacrifice every enjoyment of life – the endearments of home, the society of friends, and the tenderest ties of the human heart, ay, and ofttimes their own lives upon the shrine of their mad ambition. Behold the pale student pouring over his bookds, toiling incessantly day after day and night after night, robbing nature of her dues, and consuming his very being in order that he may pluck the laurel wreath from the brow of fame until life becomes dim and flickering, and finally expires, and he perishes a martyr to his own ambition – Again, behold the haughty conqueror, who wraps cities in flame and whelms nations in blood, wades through seas of human gore, and causes a world to mourn in order to gain the homage of his fellow men. Can any of these be the true mission of life? Can man be thus fulfilling the high destinies of his exalted nature? Led the bleeding millions slain on the murderous battle field, their widowed wives and orphaned children, let the down trodden and oppressed of humanity, the mourning children of poverty, crushed beneath the iron rule of mammon, let the wretched disappointed, despairing votaries of pleasure give answer, and there would arise one long, loud, simultaneous shout of no! no! no!
Ay, life is given us for a brighter and a nobler purpose; and here is a work that angel hands might covet to perform. It is to do good; to labor for the amelioration of mankind, and to check the swelling tide of human woe; to make glad the sorrowing heart and heal the bitter fountain on the mourners tears; breathe hope in the despairing breast and animate the weary fainting soul; to scatter bright flowers and gems of kindness in the weary pilgrim’s path; to wield the sceptre of eternal truth, and dethrone the powers of darkness and of wrong; to relieve the suffering sons of poverty, and break the captive’s galling chains; to train our immortal natures for that glorious, unending existence beyond the far reaching flight of time, and embalm our memories in the great heart of humanity by deeds of justice, love and truth.
O, haste the glad time when all shall strive to fulfil the true mission of life. When man finds enjoyment in the aspirations of his own immortal nature and labor for the common weal of the great brotherhood of humanity. Then shall fallen man once more arise in the glorious image of his Maker and this dark, sin-stained world become a blooming paradise again. Then shall all mankind worship beneath one great temple whose dome the azure-wreathed pillars of heaven.
S. MANSFIELD.