No doubt Esau had his meal, and, no doubt, when a man sells his soul to
the devil (the mediaeval form of the story), he generally gets the
price for which he bargained, more or less, and oftentimes with a dash
of vinegar in the porridge, which makes it less palatable.
What comes of it at last. Put side by side the pictures of Esau's
animal contentment at the moment when he had eaten up his mess, and of
his despair when he wailed, 'Hast thou not one blessing?'
He finds out his mistake. A sense of the preciousness of the despised
thing wakes in him.
And it is too late. There _are_ irrevocable consequences of every false
choice. Youth is gone: cannot alter that. Opportunities gone: cannot
alter that. Strength gone: cannot alter that. Habits formed,
associations, reputation, position, character, are all determined.
But there is a blessed _contrast_ between Esau's experience and what
may be ours. The desire to have the birthright is sure to bring it to
us. No matter how late the desire is of springing, nor how long and
insultingly we have suppressed it, we never go to our Father in vain
with the cry, 'Bless me, even me also.'
'What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own
soul?'