THE SANDS OF TIME ARE RUNNING

NZ Truth, Issue 997, 3 January 1925, Page 1

THE SANDS OF TIME ARE RUNNING

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We possess (says an American contemporary) but three things m this life — time, thought and action/Time m which to think and act; thought to direct action, action to make time and thought worth while. The only thing that we actually possess is this moment. Life is made up of the 'present moment. Neglect that and you neglect life. ';

Maeterlinck wrote m 'an essay on "The* Future": "Time is a mystery which we have arbitrarily divided into a past and, a future, /m order to try and understand something of it. < In itself, it is almost certain that it is but an immense, eternal, motionless present, m which all that takes place and '■'all that will take place takes place immutably; m which to-morrow, save m the ephemeral mind of man, is indistinguishable from yesterday or today."' ,

Some : .of us (too many) merely pass the time. It would be better expressed if we said that] time passes us. There are ; those that idly watch the river flowing by, others that go out and work upon it, or harness its 'power, or use. it to carry heavy, useful burdens. As we live, what is worth while? "To live according to reason," said the stoics. '

"To live with /contempt for everything'that others hold important," said the cynics. ;

"To live only for pleasure," said the epicurians. "What really is worth while? Your answer to . that ", question -would tell your character more clearly than any other thing you could say.

Honest hard work is worth while, for work evidently is the destiny of man; it ' is, the will of God that the' power given to all living creatures should be

used; and upon- man, the highest being on this little earth, rests the heaviest responsibility for use or misuse of time.

It is every man's duty . to do the best that he can and to be sure that he is really doing the best within him — merely to avoid harm, to act justly, or "scatter seeds of kindness" is not enough.

There is a fable about a man m charge of a great lighthouse built to guide ships at sea. Maeterlinck tells about him ' m his "Wisdom and Destiny." On the shore near the lighthouse were a few very poor families living m little cabins and needing oil. The man m the lighthouse could not resist their appeals, and' gave them the oil that he should have saved for the great lamps, m the lighthouse tower. The ; night and the storm came, the ships were lives lostJ The lighthouse gentleman scattered seeds of kindness at the wrong time and m the wrong way. Do the little things — the \ good natured things sho\v all possible, kindness. But as you watch beside the hour-glass that represents your life, be sure, if you can, that you are; trying to do some big thing, m addition to doing the little things. Bigness is comparative. Try at least something big for YOU.

Our difficulty, is that we make excuses for ourselves. One has "never had a chance." That is the most comical : excuse. . A blind man was the best postmaster England ever had. The greatest Greek orator, m the beginning, stuttered abominably. Washington was beaten constantly m his battles and abandoned by his soldiers. Of a thousand great successes, at least nine hundred and ninety have been made by ; men that began '.'without a

chance." , For that very reason they succeeded. Not having the chance, they decided to MAKE it.

Another will tell #ou: "I am tied down to a routine job; I can do no more than attend to . that." Newton, the greatest mathematical genius that ever lived, and one of the hardest workers, 'held a small Government place and was glad to get it. This did not prevent bis doing really great work. • . :

"I have a family to take care of; children are a burden on me; I must first think oft, them." That is the excuse of many, and among excuses it is perhaps the tiest. It is also the worst, for the man with such responsibilities has for each child another good reason for. working hard, another reason for realising that thinking takes no money and little time— only concentration. And one thought at, the right time, of the right kind, may bring success and glory and make a man useful to all the earth's inhabitants. . '

Every man. has his share of . time, and every man, according to his ability, has the power of thought. None therefore can saj': "I never had a chance." Every minute is "a chance." There are sixty chances m every hour. But we let those hours', that are the sands m the glass, ifall through unused. We all make excuses for ourselves, from the highest to the lowest. To quote Maeterlinck again:

„ "The • assassin i will tell you : 'I murder, it is true, but at least I do not steal.' And he who has stolen steals, but does not betray; and he who betrays will, at least, not betray his brother. And thus does each one cling for refuge to his last fragment of spiritual beauty."

The year that is gone is a big piece out of every life. Every man is smaller than he was a year ago, for a man's size is not measured by inches, but. by the working years that remain to him. What his many acres are to the great landowner, the years and months are to us whose property is time. But there is no use wasting regret on the years gone, well or badly used. They are gone. „

The .! problem is to deal wisely with the years that remain, and especially with the present hour, doing the best possible now, while planning for still better work to-morrow.

. If the last year was lost, wasted, make this year dp the work of two. It can be done. Do not sit vrtitching time sifting away; rather determine, no matter how ridiculously vain it may sound, to make time pause in 'his flight and notice you; :

What is worth while? Certainly, self-rrespect is worth while; life is a curse without it. And for a real man, self-respect can be based on nother but courageous hard work. A schoolboy entering a race would, be ashamed, whether he won or lost, to admit that he did not run as hard as he could, had not tried as hard as he could- to win.

Every man's life is a race; each is his own judge and timekeeper; each knows well whether he is running that x'ace as fast and as hard as he can, or loafing like a spiritless schoolboy.

The years are the milestones; every one of us now counts his race by a year mile less. With this year, 1925, comes a new start, another beginning; no matter what, the past has been, hard work or shirking, the future can be made whatever each one will.

You Stand on the Bank of a Wide River. You 1 , See the River To-day, To-morrow You See That Same River Again, but Not the Same Water. \\t Flows 'On, and So Flows the Stream of Time. In Itself It Is Endless, Never Began, Never Can End.' But for. Us It Is Short, Only a Moment* It Moves Slowly m Childhood, a Day Seems a Year. It; Moves Swiftly m Old Age. Yeans Are

Like. Weeks/ and Soon They Are Qpne;