THE GARLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3315, 26 September 1917, Page 53

THE GARLAND.

* FOR THE QUIET HOUR. No. 213. By Duncan Wright, Dunedin. LIFE A TANGLED SKEIN, No chance has brought This ill to mo, — 'Tis God'a sweet will. So let it be; He eeoth what I cannot see. TSbere is a need be For each pain, And He will make It One day plain, That earthly loss Is heavenly gain.. ' Like as a piece of tapestry viewed) from the back Appears to be Naught but threads Tangled hopelessly. But in. the front A picture fair H-ewards the worker^ For hie care, Proving his skill And patience nare. Thou art the workman, I the frame; / Lord, for the glory Of Thy name, Perfect Thine image On the eame.

The period of our life is brief, 'Tis the red of the red roee leaf; 'Tis the gold of- a sunset sky, 'Tis the flight of a bird on high; But one may fill the space With such infinite grace That the red shall view all time, And the gold thro' the ages shine, And the bird fly swift and straight To the portals of God's own gate.

"Life," says an anonymous writer," Is made up of gain and loss; and often the gain comes only through the loss. Even when one attains to the possession of that which is best, achievement is saddened by fhe possession of the thought that it has been won by the sacrifice of many things which would have been good ; in themselves, but which could not De held with the one supreme good. Each new conquest in human life is like the dawning of a new day. A sky • reddens and brightens, the stars fade out. Yet. when the sun has risen high above the horizon and has flooded the heavens with his light, who mourns for the departed glory of the stars? It ought to be so also in the other sphere. As the light of life emerges into clearer shining, the minor lights are lost in the glory, not, by any merely arbitrary law, but because in the new splendour they have no power of shining; and he is surely ungrateful who mourns that the former things in which he delighted have sunk into insignificance before the greater blessings which are now lavished upon him. Let the cold beauty of the stars fade out, if we have instead of the night pass by, unmourned for, since ours are the life and the movement of tne sunlit day." TVas long ago I read the story sweet—--01 how the mothers over the sea. Wind in and) out the yarn the maidens knit, Some trinkets small and tiny shining coins; That when the tender little fingers w-sary . grew, And fain would lay aside the- tiresome task, From out the ball would drop the hidden gift To please and urge them on in search for more. And so I think the Father kind above "Winds in and out the skein of life we weave, Through all the years, bright tokens of His love, That when, we grow weary and long for rest They help to urge and cheer us on. for more; And facr down the ball wo find, When all the threads of life nt last are spun, The grandest gift of all—eternal life. MARY CLBMMER AMES strikes a high and inspiring note : "The procession of the seasons passeß on. The constellations march through space. Days die in serenity and are born in splendour. The universe lavishes its largess for your delight; yet of the infinite that it gives, how little you take in, how much less you assimilate. In what poverty yon abide 1 What scanty measure you give out! In what perception of faculty or emotion do you rise to the supreme fullness of life! You are haunted with the consciousness of what you miss—of what you have never reached. What dulls and deadens and irritates you this moment? Something—■ a petty or mean little something, doubtless; yet it is mighty enough to undermine resolves, to defraud you of the highest and finest essence of life; more—to rob you of the possession of your highest and sweetest self. Nor is the •victim scarcely wholly to blame. The most exquisite flavour of daily existence eludes us chiefly through the lack of prevailing and pervading courtesy in our constant intercourse with each other—through a careless lack of tender consideration for the temperamental differences and infirmities which exist in all. . . . This lack of courtesy, of sympathetic kindness in little things, is surely the bane of average daily life. We see it, feel it, suffer from it everywhere. It is as culpably palpable in the highest council of the nation as it is in the humblest household." Forenoon and afternoon and night— Forenoon, And afternoon and niffht— Forenoon and—what! The empty eong repeats itself. No more? Yea, that is Lifer niake this forenoon 'sTiblime, This afternoon, a psalm, this night a prayer, And Time is conquered, and thy orown is won. —E. R. Still Sink not beneath imaginary Borrows, Call to your aid your courage and your wisdom; Think of the 6udden change of human ecenes; Think oi the various accidents of war; Think on the mighty powers of awful virtue; Think on th« Providence that guards the good. —Johnson.

Hannah More sings : How short is human life I the very breath Which frames my words ■accelerates my death. "LIFE'S REALITY," by Rev. Paul Van Dyke, makes good reading: "The reality of life consists in God, no? can anyone find any reality in Ins Ufa until he has found God. And the senti* mental life is one of the chief obstaclej to real life. Illusions about self and tht ■world and our relation to it are constantly active in turning us from God and preventing us from really living in Him. W* often know sentimentality -when we see ii —in other people. But a definition lit difficult. '

"We should probably all agree to -thftt a sentimentalist is one who recognises th* need of forming right and real relation* to truth or man or God. but still form* false or unreal relations to truth or maa or God. In morality the sentimentalist weeps over the novel or the play, aiwt has neither help nor sympathy for the want or sorrow next dooi\ In politics ha makes or applauds speeches of patriotio devotion, and subscribes to corruptive funds, or tells lies about his antagonista to get his party into power. "In religion the sentimentalist, goes to church because he likes the delivery or the stylo of his favourite preacher, listens with moistened eyes while the new solois* sings 'Lead, kindly Light,' likes to think about God when the shadow of trouble or fear falls over him, and then calmly and continuously neglects every duty of reli-gion—-never makes the slightest sacrifice for his church or the smallest real effort to follow the precepts of Christ in hia daily life."

Other readers would probably prefer tha sympathetic and kindly message of a, gifted -woman—Charlotte Bronte : "Life appears to me too short to ba spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs. We are, and must be, one and all, burdened with faults in this worlds but the time will soon come when, I truafc* we shall put them off in putting off out corruptible bodies i when debasement ana sin will fall from us with this cumbron* frame of flesh, and only the. spark will remain—the impalpable principle of lifa and thought, pure as when it left tb4 Creator to inspire the creature t whence it came, it will return, perhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from tha pale human soul to brighten to the serapk. It is a creed in which I delight, to whica I cling. It makes eternity a rest, * mighty- home, not a terror, and no abyss. Besides, with this creed revenge neve* worries my heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts injustice never crushea me too low: I live in calm, looking to the end."

I oannot always sea the way that leads To heights above: I sometimes quite forget that He leads oa With hands of love j But yet I know the path must lead me (a Imma,nuel'a Land, And when I reach Life's summit, I shall know Audi understands I oannot always trace the onward course ' i My ship must take; ! But," looking backward, I behold afar Its shining wake Illumined with God's light of love; and eo I onward go, In perfect trust that He Who holds the helm The course must know. I cannot always know and understand The Master's rule; I cannot always do the tasks He gives In Life's hard school; But I am learning, with His help, to solv*, To solve them one by one, And when I cannot understand), to say "Thy Will be done." —Author unknow.