The face of pleasure to the youthful imagination is the face of an angel, a paradise of smiles, a home of love; while the rugged face of industry, imbrowned by toil, is dull and repulsive; but at the end it is not so. These are harlot charms which pleasure wears. At last, when industry shall put on her beautiful garments, and rest in the palace which her own hands have built, pleasure, blotched and diseased with indulgence, shall lie down and die upon the dung-hill.—BEECHER.
The Deceitful Nature of Sin
