FLEETING YEARS.

Auckland Star, Volume 304, Issue 304, 23 December 1926, Page 9 (Supplement)

FLEETING YEARS.

WHAT DO THEY BRING? THE NEED OF SERVICE. (By G.E.8.) Einp otu wiid beiis : to the wild sky. The flying cloud, the frosty light ; The year is dying in the night : King out. wild bells, and let him die. Ring out a slowly dying cause. And ancient forms of parry strife : Ring in the nobler modes of life. With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring in the valiant man and free. The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; Ring out the darkness of the land. Ring in the Christ that is to be. It is hard to realise that over seventy ''New Years" have dawned, and old years died, since Tennyson wrote those verses: verses that in spite of all our progress, seem to have been written equally well for the bowed head and skeleton frame of 192 C. As a new year looms near we look i back, we take toll, and those of us who are "getting on" say "Is it possible— \ another year gone?" And those of! young and eager years, spirits high, hearts hot, ready to savour all life has to offer, cry: "Oh what a long time it has seemed till New Year's Dayl What a long year this has been!" | We take toll, and what do vre find ? I Is this old world much different for the j passing of years? Has mankind altered] much ? Are we better, are we worse. With fifty years packed with mecha- j nical progress, medical research, educa- j tio_al enlightenment* has human nature altered much? Have we any newvirtues, any new sins ? Has sin really increased, or is it more flagrant, more noisy, less hypocritical? Can we stand on the hill tops and sincerely shout j "Behold how we have improved 1 See | how we have clothed the naked, fed the j hungry, and comforted the afflicted:", Can we? In a certain measure, but not I with much pride, for we have to admit! that human nature to-day is the same stumbling block in the way of social. progress that it was centuries ago. ! We take toll, and we think with this same poet: So many worlds, so much to do, ho little done, such things to be. Each year finds us with greater accumulation of things we "might have done." Yet passing years tear away many little trivialities that threatened j to unmake us. We get down to the realities of life, and give less and less heed to strangling convention. At last we get the gift' of looking beneath the i surface, of searching for loyal hearts ■ rather than smooth manners and fine feathers. We turn, by the grace of God, more eagerly to real work despite its setting, than to those who come with sounding trumpets and all the flags flying. We worry less and less about iorms and ceremonies, and in the Gethsemanes which few escape we walk in a closer fellowship and understanding with our Creator. In the avenue of years, we were seeking. seeking, till Time, the great interpreter, made some solid footholds for us. Slowly along the years came the message, "Love and Service." Hand in' hand they must go, or their fruits are barren. Loving and serving. Loving fiercely all humanity. Aching with its sorrows, rejoicing in its joys, bearing its burdens, sharing its toils. Heeding not the cause of trouble, seeing only the .remedy, leaving the judgment to God. And "service 1" What is service? Not the mere opening of pursestrings, the writing of a cheque, but the giving of self in personal service. The lives of our poorest brethren are .sanctified daily by this beautiful giving of self. Yet they seek no praise, their motives are tiie purest —love of their neighbour. In the homes of those more fortunatelyplaced, we find too often that their desire is to heap more on those who already have enough. If we could get the habit of looking down the ladder instead of above, how much better it would be- for our neighbour and ourselves. If when we had time to render a service, o had a gift to give, we could remember t' c neediest, rather than the surfeited. ' with grateful hearts, we, in spit. • get many a glow over unr-. - ret ■ ! :ndly deeds. As kimi y wishes for the coming year, Edna Or;; ham Macky's beautiful poem to those who labour, seems very fitting: I would sing a joyous song. For the dwellers of the earth; For the prisoners of wrong. Marred and hampered from their birth. For the creatures of the clod. Born and cradled in the mire ; Tiny, living seeds of God. Bravely daring to aspire. I would skim the crystal spray. From a sun-kissed summer sea : tbe sunshine from the day. Pluck the flowers from the lea. Brush the silver from the wings (if the starry-breasted night: And from every bird that sings, I would snare a note in flight. And with these I'd make a song. With love's alchemy divine; For the men who trudge along. To the factory and the mine. For the sweepers of the street. 'Midst the city's noise and murk; And for those of weary feet, vy'ho pursue their lowly work. Without notice, without praise. Iv the kitchen and the yard. Walking in unlovely ways. Soiled and bent and labour scarred, I would sing a joyous song.