Thoughtful Moments

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 6, Issue 49, 19 February 1943, Page 2

Thoughtful Moments

(Supplied by tlie Whakatp

ne / Miuiste.rs' Association).

PRISONERS OF WAR

The following is a copy of a letter written by the Rev. Geo. W. Hamilton, of Comric. Scotland, to. the people of his parish. Mr Hamilton lias been a prisoner of war in Germany for two .vears. Stalag VIII. 8., Germany, February 28, 1942. My dear people,—As probably you are aware, we are far back im Germany again. Bi. was. with real regret that we left Heilag, Rouen, and the long three days' journey that brought, us here, though moderately comfortable, was; somewhat depressing. This is an immense camp, accommodating they say, about 17,000 prisoners of war—all Britisih, mainly other lanks. I have heard many Scots tongues, but curiously have met no one I know: Of course, one does not move far from one's own compound in such weather conditions as Ave are experiencing. For here, a rigorous still holds— the ground being very deeply snoAVclad, and keen frost, alternating Avith further falls of snow. Welfare Avork in the 'camp appears to be Avell organised. Library and school supply Avelcome facilities for the men, while many forms of entertainment have been developed. I haA'e al ready alt tended a really first-class concert. But by far the most wonderful thing I have found is the Church, and I' must tell you something about, it. Last Sunday, a fcAv of us 'set out to attend' morning worship at 9.30 a.m. It Avas a Avild morning—an icy wind drifting and falling snow. As Ave madei our way through the storm, the driven snow stinging our faces, the thought occurred that surely the congregation Avould be sparse on such a day But as: we came near the place, we saAv arriA'ing from direction companies of marching men, and when Ave entered the church—a beautifully converted barrack room, seating I should say about 600 —it: Avas already well filled. But still the men came, and continued to come, until the building Avas* crowded, and men Avere standing in every able corner, and the last companies failed to get in. The service, conducted by Presbyterian Padre Griffiths, from New Zealand, Avas just such asi Ave have at home. Hoav fervent, how moving it Avas. Seldom have I known such fcn<om- in singing, such earnestness in devotion, such eagerness Ito hear the preacher's message. It was. indeed good to be there., FolloAving the service a short Scots Communion AvaS celebrated, with Padre Read, of Greenbank, Edinburgh, officiating., and Presbyterian and New Zealand padres and myself assisting as elders. It. Avas a solemn uplifting hour. And again at Anglican Evensong, conducted by Padre Robinson,. of Not-

OUR SUNDAY MESSAGE

tinghamshi re, there Avas the same, full church, (the same heartiness in worship, the same Spirit of Clod manifestly at work in our midst. Nor is the church merely an activity of Sunday. Every morning and evening of every day of the week, men gather within it for study and discussion, worship and devotion. It is surely good to know that, amid all the irksomeness of captivity, our men find, in the Church sweet hours of refreshing and blessing. fear I have exhausted my available space. Affectionate greetings to all. May God bless and keep you. Your sincere Friend, GEORGE W. HAMILTON. CHARLES DICKENS' ONLY HYMN The poem -which is given here is "the one hymn that Dickens, itf known to have written. It appeared anonymously in the Christmas number of "Household Words" for 1856. A clergyman wrote to Dickens, who was then editor ,of the publication, thanking him for having thus conveyed to many readers such sincere and true religious sentiments. Dickens, in answering the note confessed that lie himself was the author o'f. the hymn, and declared that although the words were supposed to be spoken by a child, they expressed his own personal feeling and belief. Hear my prayer, O Heavenly Father, Ere I lay me down to sleep, Bid; Thy anpgcls pure and holy, Round my bed their vigil keep. My sins are heavy, but the mercy Far outweighs them, every one, Down before Thy cross I cast them, Trusting in Thy help alone. "Keep me through this night, of peril Underneath, its boundless shade Take me to Thy rest, I pray Tlice, When my pilgrimage is made. None shall measure out Thy patience By the span of human \iought: None shall bound the tender mercies Which Thy Holy Son has bought. Pardon all my past transgressions, Give me strength for days, to come, Guide and guard me with Thy blessing Till Thy angels bid me home. WHY A MIRACLE? Tf radio's slim lingers can pluck a melody From night—-and tossi it over a continent or sea; If the petallcd white notes of a • viol ill Are blown across the mountains or the: city din; If songs', like crimsoned roses, arc culled from thin blue air—Why should mortals wonder if God hears prayer. ETHEL ROMSG FULLER.