THE GARLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3828, 26 July 1927, Page 68

THE GARLAND.

FOR THE QUIET HOUR. No. 726. By Duncan Wright, Dunedin. (For the Otago Witness.) WE CAN SING IF WE HOLD HIS HAND. A dear little maiden who loves to sing. Was pleasing her friends one day With a simple carol, but growing shy, Her courage was ebbing away. Then stealing up to her daddy so loved. She knew he would quite understand, And whispering low in his ear, she said, “ X will sing if you hold my hand.” Ah ! little she knew what thoughts there came Through the words from her lips that fell But she knew if daddy just held her hand She could sing so bravely and well. Oh! that we might have that child-like trust In all that our God hath planned. Then, though the heart by sorrow is crushed. We can sing if we hold His hand. It is easy to sing with loved ones near, When sunshine lies over the land, But to sing in the dark with a lonely heart. We must feel the touch of His hand. Oh ! tender the touch that heals our wounds And the tempest or sorrow is calmed, We hear His voice “ Be not afraid." 1 have promised to hold thy hand.

O God our refuge, we cry to Thee. Whose love our Redemption hath planned. Lord, strengthen our faith, lest we forget We are held by a Father’s hand. Oh ! hold us fast hen the shadows fall. And we long for the “ Better Land,” Then give us the garment of praise that we May sing as we hold Thy hand. _And when we shall lay life's burdens down, With the lessons we can’t understand. Dear Saviour and Friend, whose love cannot end, I,et us feel the grip of Thy Hand. —Mary Mackenzie. * * * At midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God : and the prisoners heard them.—Acts xvi, 25. Samuel Rutherford, imprisoned at Aberdeen, wrote a letter to a friend which he headed “ The Palace of Jesus Christ,” and in which he said: “My Alaster doth give me great joy—good measure, pressed down, and running over.” Bunyan, telling how he was taken back from the courthouse to his cell on Bedford Bridge, says: “I did sing as though joy did make me sing.” How'true it is that— Strong walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage! —Henry Thorne. * * * P.less the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits.—Psa. 103. 2. Yes, think and thank ! 'Twill lighten care. And make thy pain less hard to bear. Count up the mercies of to-day, And discontent will flee away; More calm and patient thou wilt grow. While from thy lips thanksgivings flow. Yes, think and thank ! Look up and see By faith the home prepared for thee, Where neither weariness nor tears Can ever come—nor pain, nor fears. Think how 'twas bought—by Jesus' death— And thank Him with thy latest breath. —G. M. Taylor. * # # “GOD BLESS OUR HOME." By Elizabeth Palmer Alilbank. I picked up my mother’s Bible yesterday. It is more worn than mine. As I opened it there dropped out an oldfashioned bookmark, a strip of perforated cardboard, on which was worked in cross-stitch with shaded pink and green wool, “ God Bless Our Home," and the cardboard was backed with faded pink ribbon with fringed ends. How many years ago it is, almost like another life, since every home had a similar motto, cross-stitched in all shades and colours on a large piece of cardboard, framed, and hung over the fireplace or in the parlour over the Alason and Hamlin reed organ. And those other mottoes, do you remember them? “Welcome"—hospitably conspicuous—“ What is Home without a Alother ? ” and “ God is Love." But most popular of all, the one most often seen, was “ God Bless Our Home." As I looked at the quaint bit of handiwork which I held I recalled many scenes of my childhood which, though relegated to memory’s garret, dim and dusty, have unconsciously influenced my every action, and have stretched invisible, intangible, yet restraining lines across forbidden pathsl Again I heard my father’s voice, as reverently before each meal he thanked God for the food set before us and the blessings of this day: again I heard my mother gently remind us: “Bow your heads, children.”

“ Family prayer ” was as much a part of the evening as the setting of the sun. Aly mother read a chapter from the Bible, and then, as each member of the family knelt by his or her chair, my father prayed the heavenly Father to keep us safe through the night. Occasionally John and Henry nudged each other and giggled at the risk of a severe reprimand later. Invariably Benny, the youngest, went fast asleep before the prayer was over, his curly head resting on the chair, but the remembrance of those family devotions lingers with each child like an old melody which survives on and on in the air without instrument or strings. We have beautiful homes to-day, wonderful ones, all the modern conveniences, run with efficiency under the regime of domestic silence, but upon how many of

these homes is God’s blessing invoked daily either by motto, by family prayeror “grace” at the table? The members of the family may be scattered in the evening, at “ movies,” dance, club, orcivic organisations; the meals may be taken at a family hotel or eafetaria; art may refuse to let a cardboard take the place of a Corot or line print, but can we not in some way, some time, some place, find a few moments in the daily programme, in which the family maysend up to the throne of heavenly grace the united appeal, “God Bless ° OurHome”? * * * SEASON SIGNS. And God said: Let there be lights in tha firmament, and let them be for signs and' lor seasons.—Gen. i. 14. 65 Rise up . for lo ! the winter pdbt . . . flowers appear . thu time of the singing of birds is come, ami fand.2/c a e n t o ii, t lo- 1 2 UrUe hei “ d in A spring eal morn of smiles and tears' A burst of sunlight through a cloud-rift cheers; The rain-getnrned trees and hedges snarkls bright, Thoughhbare the boughs and dreary still tim 'Mid flashing drops the thrushes softly shir In sweet accord with gentle sounds of suring The ring-dove's gurgling music in the wood-4 In still, small voice, all whisper : " God is good." The time of singing birds—silent so long Is come, and ail break forth in gladsome song. These feathered choristers predict in praiso Xhe advent of rich summer's fruitful days. Thus, seasons roll around in ceaseless course No power of man can check their mighty torce. Lessons of resurrection, line on line: In God’s bright hook of Nature, lo 1' they shine. God's dispensations, times and seasons change, All in His keeping—not within man's range, The darkness of the age of law has passeih the glory of His grace out-shines at last, After the law’s cold, frigid course had run, In due time, God in love sent down His Son • His tender mercy, life, light, truth, and love' All shone in Him—tlie “ Day Spring " front above. The season spring portrays this age of grace, When buds of promise blossom forth apace. When flowers of love and joyful hope all bloom, And point to harvest-home, beyond the tomb. —T. Robinson. * * * NO EAST OK WEST. In Christ there is no east or west In Him no south or north. But one great fellowship of love Throughout tlie whole wide earth. In Him shall true hearts everywhere Their high communion find. His service is the golden cord Close-binding all mankind. Join hands then, brothers of the faith, Whate'er your race may be ! Who serves my Father as a son Is surely kin to me. Tn Christ now meet both east and west, In Him meet south and north. All Christly souls are one in Him, Throughout the whole wide earth. —John Oxetiham. from The Itibl'.-sl Recorder. * * * BITS! A bit of grit to face defeat. And leave it slain before your feet! A bit of pluck to meet the gloom. And set faith's starshine in its room ! A bit of hope to pierce the night Of failure with a dauntless sight ! ' - A bit of song to drown the moan Of doubts and sighs—when you're alono! A bit of will to shoulder load, z\nd take the steep but duty-road! A bit of laughter—just to kill The fears which shroud some mist-cappej hill ! A bit of faith to " play the man.” In just your place in God’s life-plan. —Lillian Gard.