THE GARLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3414, 20 August 1919, Page 53

THE GARLAND.

FOR THE QUIET HOUR. 312. By Duncan Wright, Dunedin. HOLLAND—TWO PICTURES. 1919, PILFERING. 1871, PRAYER. We are staggered when we read in the press of to-day that Holland is overrun by burglars. "Crime," says the article now before us, "in the pre-war days* was at jts minimum in Holland. Her standing army of 50,000 strong was composed of those who served their allotted,time in the military service of their country with the minimum of grumbling, returning cheerfully to the plough, or the dairy, or. fisheries as soon as their term of army service was over. They were law-abiding. To-day all is changed. From a land, of safety Holland has been transformed into a land of danger, and the Hollander—that is, he wbo is represented in the ranks of the plough hoy, the driver of the horse or donkey along the tow path, the churner of the butter and the cream, the farm hand or the miller's assistant—have been transformed into a shiftless, lazy disorderly ne'er-do-well, whose .principal occupation is burglary. ..." The prisons and gaols of Holland are filled ,to their capacity for the first time in the country's history as far back as the oldest Hollander can remember. . . . From a land of calm, peaceful, seething* quiet, Holland has changed into a land of unrest. It oozes out of the very ground at every step one takes: Lack of grain keep the grist mills idle, and consequently fail to provide work for those who might be induced to-take up the broken strands of their tasksland don the snow-white of the miller for the blue of the soldier. Empty larders, the. result of the exorbitant prices of foodstuffs, are not conducive to make the discharged soldier eager for hard work and the regular Government stipend that used to come to the good "vrouw" while her "man" was still shouldering a rifle and watching the Boche, proved too easy a meal ticket not to have its end" come without considerable regret. . . . Holland is going through a bad dream at present which at times assumes the proportions of a hideous nightmare. When the country wakes up to a better era upon the completion of the post-war adjustments, from which the country will, Avithout question, profit through the tremendous demand upon its splendid natural resources, her citizens will likewise wake up to higher ideals than robbery and other forms of criminality." (Correspondent New York Herald.)

PEIA.CE. (By Eliza. Morgan Swift.) Peace! Will there be peace Or only the cease Of the cannon's roar? Will this sinister war Turn from a battle of guns and of swords To a battle of words? Is hate buried deep down With the bones of the dead? Have they fought so, andl bled, To leave behind them a curse, or a. crown ? Will love be reborn in the diivm of the day?' And who will come to show ua the way? The wise men! Who are they? Will they come—will they come? From the East and the West, From the Nforth and the South, Prom the eagle's nest And the river's mouth— Will they follow the star ? Will they hear from afar The voice that bids them arise and bring Their priceless gift, their offering? O pray! Let us pray They will show us the way Through the darkness of night to a nobler day, To a Christ reborn in the -hearts of men, To peace on earth, good-will again! —The Outlook. PICTUE.E NO. 2. When the writer and compiler of "The Garland" was young he had the joy of knowing and sometimes hearing Dr Norman Macleod of the Old Barony Church, one of Her Majesty's Chaplains for Scotland. Good Words in 1861 was edited by

this famous ecclesiastic and was a prime favourite magazine in the homes of the people. One of the striking articles is now before me and I feel certain many of the older readers will readily follow me as we compare the years. 1861 and the year 1919. The title of the article is catchy enough : "The Waker, The Dreamer, And The Sleeper." Foreigners when talking of Holland as the land of inundations, often commit great mistakes. They think that those inundations are caused by the North Sea breaking in upon our villages and towns, but we may be thankful (writes J. De Liefde) that this is an error, for what would be left of x>oor Holland if it were true? . . . As early as 1413, our forefathers tried to put a stop to 4she devouring power of the sea, by fencing in the whole coast, from Petten down to the Helder, with three rows of piles. This plan proved unsatisfactory, and ■ the gigantic task was then undertaken of raising thfiee dykes of clay and earth, which on their banks were broad enough to allow, two carriages to pass abreast. These dykes were afterwards made broader and higher still, so that they have formed a sufficient bulwark since, and delivered the country from the horrors of an inundation for upwards of

three centuries. . . . The Waker is the chief and foremost of the three dykes and stands close to the sea. It is called the Waker because it never has a moment's rest, since it is both day and night in combat with the restless sea.. South from the Waker is the second dyke. Being sheltered by its companion, and being less in danger it may take a nap, and indulge in a loose slumber: hence the name, the Dreamer. The third dyke rightly bears the name of Sleeper. Fully a century ago the people of Holland had a very rude awakening in November, 1761. The dyke-master had reached Alkman on his way to Amsterdam. All was right when he left, but a strong gale, was blowing from the north-west, and increasing every minute. He thought of the Waker and returned to his post of duty. And when he reached the Waker the storm had risen to a hurricane, and the labourers, nearly 200 in number, were on the dyke and in great excitement and confusion. They had already used up their whole store of hurdles and canvass, and had done little or nothing to, check the inroads of their relentless foe, although it was still some hours from high water. What an hour was this in the history of a nation! The master saw at a glance what was wanted and not a moment was lost in looking for fresh materials, and when he returned with his waggons a loud cheer sounded through the roaring of the storm and the thunder of the waves. "Here is the master, God be praised ! Come, cher up men! All will be right now." A glorious battle now commenced against the furious sea, and with every half hour the hurricane increased in violence and the waves in fury and the tide was to rise more and more till midnight. It was now 11 o'clock. About naif past eleven a loud cry was heard from the centre: "Help! Great God ! four stones out at once !" In a moment the master asked "Where?" "Here, down here!" cried ten voices. The master flung a rope round his waist and so did four of the men. Forty men kept the ends of the ropes, and the five men, with the remaining hurdles and canvass glided down the sloping side of the dyke. Although roughly knocked about the hole was closed and the men drawn up. Again and again the cry for help. was raised —canvass all gone! "Off with your coats," shouted the master, "and use them for canvass." There they stood, half undressed, in the rage of that never-to-be-forgotten .November storm, dripping with the foam of the lashing waves. It was a quarter to 12 o'clock. Only half an inch now, and the water will rush over the dyke, and not a living person will be left in North Holland. All the coats were used up. There was no hope now but in God. "Now, men, we can do no more ! Down on your knees, and wrestle with God!" shouted the master. And two hundred men, most of them heads of families, knelt down on the summit of the shaking, trembling dyke, by the roaring of the storm and the thunder of the waves, and lifted up their hearts and hands to Him who only could say to the waves "B© still," and to the wind "Be quiet." And the people in Alkman ■ that night were dancing and singing, and drinking and cursing, and they knew not that there was but a quarter of a inch between them and death! Neither did the thousands and tens of thousands in the country who were sleeping in '• their beds —the babies and the women and the sick ones—know how critical was their fate. But God heard the prayer of those men; strange to say, and yet not strange, the very moment their voices pierced through the howling of the storm abated ! That night there was a message T ro claimed to the wakers, the dreamers, and the sleepers of all succeeding generations. God is our refuge and our strength, In straits a present aid; Therefore, although the earth remove, We will not be afraid: Though hills amidst the seas be cast; Though waters roaring make, And troubled be; yea tho* the hills By swelling seas do shake. A river is, whose streams do glad ' The City of our God; The holy place, wherein the Ikirdl Most high hath His abode: The Lord to her an helper will, And that right early prove. . —Psalm 46. Martin Luther's use of this well-known psalm exemplifies his magnificent courage. In hours of sore distress he would say to Melancthon, "Come, Philip, let us sing the 46th psalm." Luther's version has his heartiness, his sincere piety, his joyful confidence, his simplicity, and strength, his impetuosity and ruggedness. Harmony, delicacy, spiritual tenderness, are

not there 5 but the words of his hyran breathe the same undaunted spirit which flamed out m answer to the warning of his friends, "Were there as many devils in Worms as there are roof-tiles, I would go on."