" 'Here a crowd sport themselves with I know not what.' Alas! amusement reigns man's great demand! to trifle is to live! - Is it a trifle to die? Alas, how often professed diversions present us with a shroud, and talk of death! how often are tombs ransacked, and sleeping heros, for pastime, to contemn an awful God! twice on a day to feel the earthquake, and attend a ball! Have men their hours all numbered, all in charge, to rust in sloth, to waste in luxury, or to sport in play! - to waste in the stews, where order, ties, relations, laws are made the droll's laugh; and broke for lustful modes of sin! or where the drunken club, like herds of swine, sit wallowing near the bowl, and talk grunting o'er their troughs! or where the thoughtless fops keep their stainful plays; their games profane; their wanton balls; their night masquerades, their jubilees of hell! Where, where is that avarice of time, which death should inspire, as to think on God, steal a few precious moments, from the black, broad waste of murdered time! My soul, let me never forgive thee, the loss inestimable of my twelve first years of life. 'Here a sorrow fellow, with his pipe, decoys the youth after him.' Lord, how often how obstinately do we refuse to be charmed by thy gospel-invitations, though thou charm never so wisely! but if Satan, with the most empty temptation, if a false teacher, a puppet-shewer, or a stage player, with any novelty, call us; how do we crowd after them!"
~John Brown of Haddington, A Christian Journal