THE GARLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3249, 21 June 1916, Page 66

THE GARLAND.

FOR THE QUIET HOUR. No. 147. By Duncan Wright, Dunedin. LIFE—ITS PROBLEMS. Two children in two neighbouring villages Playing mad pranks along the healthy leas; Two strangers meeting at a festival; Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall; Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease; Two graves grass green beside a grey church tower, Washed with still rains and daisy-blossomed; Two children in one hamlet born and bred; So runs the round of life from hour to hour. Tennyson. Yet ere we part one lesson I can leave you. . . . Be good, Do noble things, not dream them all day long; And so make life, death, and that vast for ever, One grand sweet song. "I expect to pass through this world but once. Any good, therefore, that I can do, or any kindness that I can showto any fellow-creature, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again."—Stephen Grellet. So night is grandeur to- our dust, So nea'r is God to man, When duty whispers low, "I must," Tho youth replies, "I can." IS LIFE A BATTLE? In reply one writer at least affirms: "We are constantly speaking of the struggle for life, and calling life a 'battle,' but we do not see that our very existence, and the fact that we have a battle to fight, are due to the struggles and hardships and the triumphs of those who have gone before us. We think that some strange thing has happened to us, and that our lot is an unusually hard one. But such thoughts are altogether unworthy. Our fathers found life as hard a battle as we do, and if they had not fought we should not be alive to fight. Every stage of human history is the outworking of the same destiny, and it is in fulfilling ours, and entering well into tho struggle for life as arranged for us, that we do our part toward perpetuating tho more life of humanity. We are descendants, and somebody is responsible for us. We are progenitors, and we are responsible for somebody." So:

Life is a duty—dare it. Life is a burden —bear it. Life is crown-thorn —wear it. YES, LIFE IS A BATTLE. There's trampling of hoofs in the busy street, There's ' clanking of sabres on floor and stair; There's sound of restless, hurrying feet, Of voices that whisper, of lips that retreat; Will they live, will they die, will they strive, will they dare? The houses are garlanded, flags flutter gay, For a troop of the Guards rides forth to-day. Oh the troopers will ride, and their hearts will leap, When it's shoulder to shoulder and friend to friend; But it's some to the- pinnacle, some to the deep, And some in the glow of the strength to sleep, And for all it's a fight to the tale's far end; And it's each to his goal, nor turn to sway When the troop of the Guard rides forth to-day. The dawn is upon us. the pale light speeds To the zenith with glamour and golden dart. On, up! Boot and saddle! Give spurs to your steeds! There's a- city beleaguered that cries for men's deeds. With the pain of the world in its cavernous heart. Ours bo the triumph! Humanity calls! Life's not a dream in the clover I On to the walla 1 On to the walls! On to the walls and over! IS LIFE COMPLEX? What would you pay to that query after reading your morning newspaper yesterday? Or last week's Witness? To this writer life to-day seems complex beyond all human comprehension. As well ask children in the infant room if they understand C4reek or the t hinese characters. What does all this mean to us? Why are

we so strangely circumstanced? Whv this unparalleled conflict, and pain, unci sorrow throughout our Empire? Robert Browning tries to solve the riddle and mystery by saying that life is a probation, -and nothing more. The whole of its experience, not excluding pain and sorrow, lias been devised to educate and develop the moral faculties of man. Hene he sings concerning the Divine purpose : He fixed thee mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, Present thou, forsooth, vvould'st fain arrest. Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent; Try thee, and turn thee forth sufficient!} impressed. If life he-heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any prior about your lands? Oh teach the orphan boy to read. Or teach the orphan girl to scv.-; Pray heaven for a human heart, And let your selfish sorrow go. THE JOY OF LIFE. God knows how dark and murky the clays are through which we and our glorious Empire are passing. But it is absolutely clear that there are silver linings which are appreciated by those who feel and know that the Almighty Guide is at the helm and far beyond the sound of battle or the boom of mighty guns. Even through sobs and tears such may use for their comfort the next few sentences : "Let us rejoice, then, in everything, and at all times. Let us not miss any of life's gladness, and never shut out one beam of sunshine. The shadow of the Cross falls upon every road that passes through human life, and there is little need to rob ourselves of a single pleasure that is true, or drown any song that is sweet. But after all, if our joy is to be ifull, if our mirth is to last, it will have to come from the deepest well. 'The water that I will give shall be in you a well of water springnig up into everlasting life.' " NOT GREAT THINGS. Listen to Henry Drummond : "Christ . c ets His followers no tasks. He appoints no hours. He Himself simply went about doing good. He did not stop to do some special thing which we would call religion. His life was His religion. His pulpit vva-s the hillside, His congregation the woman at the well. We never think of Him in connection with a church. We cannot picture Him in the garb of a priest, or belonging to any of the classes who specialise religion. His service was of a universal, human order." To comfort and to bless, To find a balm, for woe, To tend the lone and fatherless Is angels' work below.

LITTLE THINGS. Let every reader, high and low, rich and poor, popular, public, and obscure, in city, town, and country, note the following, and so be quite clear about what we falsely call the little things of life : "There are no such things as trifles in the biography of a man. Drops make the sea. Acorns cover the earth with oaks and the ocean with navies. [What about mighty ironclads ?] Sands make up the bar in the harbour's mouth on which ships are beached; and little things in youth accumulate into character in age and destiny in eternity. If you cannot be a great river, bearing great rvessels to the ends of the earth, you can be a little spring by the wayside of life, singing all the day and all the night, and giving a cup of cold water to every weary, thirsty one who passes by. Life is made up of little things. He who travels over a continent must go step by step'—one step at a time. He who writes books must do it sentence by sentence. "What is the happiness of our own life made up of? Little courtesies, little kindnesses, and pleasant words, genial smiles, good wishes, and good deeds. One in a million once in a lifetime may do an heroic deed, but the little things that make our life come every day and every hour. If we make the little events of life beautiful and good, then is the whole life full of beauty and goodness." The last words of Alfred the Great were : "Comfort the poor, protect and shelter the weak, and with all thy might right tliat which is wrong. Then shall the Lord love thee, and God Himself shall be thy 'gi'eat reward." "FAITH AND CHARACTER," by a well-known teacher, contains the following suggestive sentences : "There is no royal road to the temple of melody, where St. Cecilia dwells. There is no short cut to the temple of the beautiful, where Apollo reigns as lord of the arts of colour, form, and music. The eac;er aspiration for eloquence, or wealth, or wisdom begins a long, long way from the excellence that crowns one's life-work. Every morning Mother Nature whispers to the youth : 'Strive ! Struggle !' Every night her last message is : 'Sleep, to waken again to new struggles, wrestlings, and achievements.' In the realm of conscience and character man must work out his own salvation through ceaseless struggling, toiling. long, hard, and patiently. And just in proportion as he soes towards excellence does the work become difficult." Lot nothing pass, for every hand Must fine! some work to do ; Loso not a chance to waken love, Be firm, and just, and true. So shall a light that cannot fade Beam on ibee, from on high, And angel voices say to thee "These things shall never die."