Thoughtful Moments

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 4, Issue 125, 4 July 1941, Page 2

Thoughtful Moments

OUR SUNDAY MESSAGE (Supplied by the Wliakatane Ministers' Association).

THE HOME GUARD

AN ADDRESS GIVEN AT A CHURCH PARADE Since we were formed into a branch of the British Army, we liavp had a changct of name which, I think, is peculiarly, suggestive. We were known, at the first, as the Local Defence Volunteers. Now wc are the Home Guard. I. do not think there is any doubt but that the new name is the better. The force was instituted when blow after blow had fallen upon our country and our cause, and when ii seemed inevitable that the< enem v should be on our own sloil. Poland, Norway, Holland, Belgium and France had each experienced the ruthless and devastating impact of total war, and the men of Dunkirk and St. Valerie will tell you how their hearts bled at the sight of wo men and children being driven, honu 1 less, in hordes along thei roads of France. We knew, instinctively, that our homes, too, were in jeopardy, and it was to save our homels, to put our selves., if need be, between the enenr? am? our homes, that: avgi enlisted ip the Home Guard. More Than a House. It is this word "home" which 1 wish to emphasise this afternoon. What is your home? It is more than a house. It is more than walls and a roof. It is more than a place where you keep your furniture. II ? s more than your restaurant and vour sleeping quarters. "Home" J? one of the dearest and richest words in our language. Your most precious possessions are there:—not\ thei stone and lime, how ever much these may have cost you: not the furnishings, however much you may have scraped together tc possess them: not even your ornaments and your heirlooms, even i! these could never be replaced. A home is made by the love which er. ists between the members of the home, that love which persists "fo? better, for worse; for richer, fo* poorer; in sickness and in health, til) death do part." Charity is not the only virtue which begins at home. Chivalry be gins there, the chivalry of a husband towards his own wifet, of a son to wards his mother, of a brother to wards hi\s sister; and unselfishness, the unselfishness of a father toward* his children, and of children towards ench other; and there, too you learn the meaning of sacrifice, of sacrifice which a mother makes even though she calls it not sacrifice. If your leisure time is spent more outside the home than in it, if you have come to pay more regard to your outside friendships and companions than to your home; if your home takes second place to sonicthing else; if you spend more on personal and unnecessary luxuries th&n on the finishing touches of the home, then home is not your home. "First be virtuous," said George Meredith, "first be virtuousi, then serve your country heart and soul." "First love your home," we may be

allowed to add, "'Then servo your country heart and soul." And yet there is, in the making of home, another and all-important factor which we would do well to honour. T'o makei home the impregnable citidel we would like it to be, we must link it up to Jesus Christ. If we can make Him the Hend of the household, and remember that He is the unseen Guest at every meal, tlie silent listener to every conversation, then we shall have put the keystone in to the archway>—binding and locking the whole together, and we shall have put thei perfect finishing touch to tlie home. In Germany, if we can read the signs aright, home-life and homelove and home-loyalty have been laid a mutilated sacrifice upon the altai of the Nazi creed. A.nd so that creed carries within it the seed of its own ultimate disintegration and destruction. Not so is it, thank God, with us. We love our homes and we are free 1 to love our homes. Only upon n solid foundation of home-love can the true greatness of a country be reared. It is to preserve the sanctities of the home that you and I have enlisted in the Home Guard. May God's blessing rest upon this our service f o our country in our country's hour need. <•««>> "Mother" writes: "I have this poem copied out in my scrapbook. The author I do not know;, some otlv ci- readers may. But I think tha» some boys in the trencheis or lying sick in hospital may have just such thoughts as are expressed here. W J all love to dwell on the thoughts o' our old, old home. THE OLD, OLD HOME'. When I long for sainted memories Like angels!' troops they come, If I fold my eyes to ponder On; the old, old homeTlie heart has many passages Through which the feelings roam. But its middle aisle is sacred To the thoughts of old, old home. Where infancy was sheltered, Liken rosebuds from the blast; Where boyhood's brief elysum In joyousness wasi passed; To that sweet spot forever, As to some hallowed dome, Life's pilgrim bends his vision— 'Tis his old, old home. A father sat, how proudly, By that old heartstone'si rays And told his children stories Of his early manhood's! days; And one soft eye was beaming, From child to child 'twould roam: Thus a mother counts her treasure* In the old, old home. The birthday gifts and festivals, The blended vesper lij'mn, (Some dear one who was swelling it Is with the Seraphim); The fond "good-nights" at bedtime— How quiet sleep would come, And fold us altogether In the old, old home. Like a wreath of scented flowers, Close intertwined each heart; Btat time and change in concert Have blown the wreath apart. But dear old sainted, memories Like angels ever come. IX I fold my eyes and ponder On the old. old home.