RELIGIOUS WORLD.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 117, 20 May 1933, Page 2 (Supplement)

RELIGIOUS WORLD.

PRESENT-DAY OUTLOOK. TIMT3S ROXiLS ON. SOME REFLECTIONS ON LIFE. Among the Homo papers that sometimes come to us is that excellent north of Scotland weekly, tho "John o'Groat Journal." A recent issue, sent by an Auckland correspondent, has an impressive article by a lay writer who contributes regularly to the paper. The following extracts from it will be read with interest and prolit by readers of this column, more especially those who are advanced in vears.

While I was walking along a street in ft Perthshire town one day a man came running after me to say tliat he had seen mo through a shop window, and was so struck by my "ageing" appearance that he could not refrain from telling me about it. I had the grace to laugh heartily, which rather disconcerted the man of brutal frankness. "My clear friend," I said, "a man is as old as he feels, just as a woman is as old as she looks." The incident set mo out on a train of thought, which—for lack of more interesting matter—l purpose transferring to my appointed place in this week's "Groat." I reflect that some spring in the near future will come and go unseen by me, and that other lambs and other larks will gambol in field and air. The seasons care not for our petty lives. Does it depress mo that the sun should shino and the birds sing and I lying in my grave? Certainly not; why should it?

Anchor of the Soul. Why should Nature go into mourning at my funeral or at the funeral of even a king? A man is important only to himself. Were all the mighty ones now alive in the world to dio to-morrow, summer would break pitilessly bright, the bloom would come on field and hill, and the trees of the forest sway rhythmically to gentle zephyrs. The seasons havo no compunction. Nature rolls on in her eternal course seemingly careless of mankind. Is mankind therefore of no account in the economy of Nature? If I thought so, I would stop here, light my pipe, and turn on the ■wireless. "Let us eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die," is the recital of a philosophy which would resolve lifo into a joyless tow-rope of existence. Yen will not find peace that ■way. Whether we call it dope, or •whether we believe it to be the pattern of the supernatural, some religion mo must have. The mass of mankind without it will never be reconciled to getting old, or to reflecting that before next spring comes round the sunshine will draw the daisy from the mounds under which they sleep. Our lights will burn ■the brighter for it, and the simple joys of existence taste sweeter. I am writing for the elderly and the aged, who are more concerned with what will happen than with what is happening. Is it not true that when the frail supports of life are loosening faith is at its best, its bravest, and strongest? "I know that my Redeemer liveth" is not only the title of a famous song, but a eure and steadfast anchor of the soul.

It w an intriguing thought that a man may grow younger as he grows older. Why should he not, in view of his knowledge and experience? He should see with acid clearness his own limitations, and be able to discern every scintilla of merit among his contemporaries. There is no cranny of human experience which he may not have explored. He surely has had enough education to broaden hi,s outlook, but not enough to dim it. Efc may have learned even to carry a merry heart through " lo ;ig life of sorrows. To be young, no matter what one's years may amount to, is to be intensely interested in life, in art, in literature, in music, but much mor,3 in character and the homely virtues "which spin the great wheel of earth about." Just as Aeolus sold favouring winds to sailors, the old-young man may inspire the young in years to live for the things that are lovely.

Morning in the Heart. When the man I referred to told mo I was ageing he judged only by outward appearance. He could not assay the age of my spirit, which is. the part that matters. I flatter myself lam as young as ever I was in that respect, that I am as ready for intellectual venture and speculation as when I . journeyed with the great leaders of thought of the Victorian era. I quote tho vivifying words of Sir William Mulick, the American judge of SO, as a declaration of my own faith end hope: — ~ "The shadow® of evening lengthen about me, but morning is in my heart The castle of enchantment .... is before mo still and daily I catch plimpses of its battlements and towers. The rich spoils of memory are mine. Mine, too, arc the precious things of to-day—books, flowers, pictures, and eport . . . The best thing of all is friends. . . The best of life is always further on Its real lure is hidden from our eyes somewhere beyond the hills of , time."