The Daily Procession of Hours and Their Sacred Gifts

Consider the present moment—to-day, the now—and examine what duty and preciousness each passing hour demands. Every day arrives bearing its own gifts. One Victorian writer imagined hours passing like solemn virgins in silent procession, their faces veiled, carrying caskets filled with treasures: brilliant diadems, ripe fruits, faded flowers. Yet we sit idle, forgetting our morning wishes, letting the day drift by neglectfully. At evening's fall, we hastily snatch only the slight remnants—a harsh apple, a withering rose—and as they turn away into shadow, their veils slip from their faces, revealing scorn.

Each day offers not merely gifts but immediate opportunities. When the Roman Emperor Titus lamented, "I have lost a day," he meant he had conferred no kindness upon anyone. How often do selfishness and vanity cause us to miss opportunities of helping others in small ways that angels in heaven might envy. We see men and women around us—not only among the poor, but among our equals—staggering under heavy burdens, yet we hesitate to lift even our fingers to help. John Newton, seeing a child weeping over a lost halfpenny, gave another and dried its tears, feeling his day not spent in vain. A word spoken in due season—how good it is!

We squander these moments in a thousand ways, regarding them as coarse sand rather than grains of gold. We pervert them into opportunities of unkindness. Time, for the businessman, is money. But it is far more: time is aionios (eternity).