Each day is like a furrow lying before us; our thoughts, desires, and
actions are the seed that each minute we drop into it, without seeming to
perceive it. The furrow finished, we commence upon another, then another,
and again another; each day presents a fresh one, and so on to the end of
life ... sowing, ever sowing. And all we have sown springs up, grows and
bears fruit, almost unknown to us; even if by chance we cast a backward
glance we fail to recognize our work.
Behind us angels and demons, like gleaners, gather together in sheaves all
that belongs to them.
Every night their store is increased. They preserve it, and at the last
day will present it to their Master.
Is there not a thought in this that should make us reflect?