a red chrysanthemum

Many people believe that our age is the last. All the omens are terrible enough to make one think so, but isn’t that belief of secondary importance? Mustn’t we all, no matter what age we live in, be permanently prepared for God to call us to account from one moment to the next? How am I to know if I shall still be alive tomorrow? We could all be wiped out overnight by a bomb, and my guilt would be no less than if I perished in company with the earth and the stars. I know all that, but don’t I heedlessly fritter away my life all the same? O God, I beseech you to take away my frivolity and self-will, which clings to the sweet, ephemeral things of life.

Source: At the Heart of the White Rose