Along the Road

Waikato Times, Volume 118, Issue 19759, 14 December 1935, Page 15 (Supplement)

Along the Road

Sometimes, when sleep win not come, I like to sit on the doorstep of my whare, listen to the stream rumble the stones, and the breeze whisper among the trees, and watch the stars. The other night I had a session, because an old trouble was making itself felt, and somehow' lying In bed seems to add to the pain, so it was really better to sit quietly and just enjoy the silence of the night, for the -stream and the breeze do not destroy silence; they accentuate it- Now, there is a saddle right at the end of the valley where -one can see the road on the bend, and as I sat there I noticed the lights of motor-c-ars flash out for a second, as the vehicles swung round the corner. They seemed to come out of the darkness, send a remarkably strong light along the valley for a second or two and then all was darkness again. It was election night and parties had gone to town to enjoy the crowds, and the posting of the -results. At first I was interested in the strength of the lights, aided I suppose by powerful reflectors. They must have been some miles away, but, if they had been stationary for a few moments I am sure I could have seen to read by them. Every dip or rut in the road must have been perfectly clear to the drivers as they journeyed homeward. It is a wonderful age this in which we live; quite a long journey of progress from the candle on my table to -the electric lights on those cars, though not quite so far from the little lamp I usually use. Electric light bulbs burn out and so do lamp wicks. It occurred to me, while silting there, that there are Lives Very Like Those Lights. They pass us -somewhere along the road, and we catch as it were a mental flash. Some little thing they did, or said, some line of thought they started; some light they threw on a pressing problem. And then they were gone, beyond our ken and all recall. We have all met them. I remember, as if it were only yesterday, the gentle soul who taught me not to give others the power to make me angry. If they could do that, she said, then they could, to some extent order one’s life. “ I could not afford to give them that power,” she added. “ I want to live my life." That was just a flash that lightened much for me, and enabled me to see things more plainly. And they seem to -come when most wanted. The outlook is dark and the road uncertain, and then these passing friends *hrow their kindly light across the way and we go on with restored confidence. They do not know, I take it, that they have done this service, and often when we have recovered ourselves it occurs to us that we have failed to thank them as we should have done. It is strange. A man annoys

An Occasional Column.

(By the Swagger.)

us and at once we can find the words that bite. A man assists us, and we have difflcultv in finding the words of thanks. Often we let the opportunity go by default. There are men in this country who have laboured all their lives to help and cheer. The great majority of them Follow the Nazarene Teacher and try earnestly to do good. The years stretch” out and seldom does anyone slop to thank them. 1 have met them fighting, amid other things, the dread tear that they are proving unworthy disciples of (their Master. Their’s must be a great faith that enables them to go on sowing the seed, rarely to see green blade or tender 'leaves, borne onward by the example of One who served and, at the end, hung alone above the lands. Somehow we get things all confused, ir, as the poet said, all service counts the same with God, then these little services that we can do to assist one another count with anything. It must be so. He said that the gift of a cup of water was worth while, showing that it was not in the value of the gift but in the spirit of the action that the worth lay. We see a man fall in the face of what is to him the great temptation, and the disapproval of the world does not lag far behind. But we do not place sufficient value on the fact that that man got up again and went on. Perhaps it was only to fall again, but so long as he gets up and goes on no one can say that the outcome is defeat. I remember a man who had come by a very hard road once saying, as we talked of old friends: “If I can just hold on that will be my best." The others could make progress up the path to fame but if he could hold on that would be his victory. And he was right, “We fall, to rise; are baffled, to light .better.” You never know what a word spoken in friendship will do. When I was on the road that country custom of saying “good-night” to (he passer-by Seemed a Wonderfully Friendly Thing. Don't let the chance pass to say what you feel for any kindness done, and any little service rendered. And there is so much done, so many kind actions, that the old world should ring with thanks, in our home my old father used to bend his head before every meal and give thanks. Nowadays I fancy the general idea is that we have earned all we get. Have we? Well, I am thankful for the green earth, and the blue skies, the friends I have and for my work. I am thankful for the music of the stream, the wind in the trees and for the birds that sing. But most of all I am thankful for the kindness of the human heart. And while I can and when I can I mean to return thanks. That I know I owe.