ONE GOLDEN HOUR.

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume XXXX, Issue 5438, 21 June 1929, Page 3

ONE GOLDEN HOUR.

(BY

r FLUERETTE.)

The sun is setting over Paeroa as the car glides through on its way, to Thames, where the old disused mineshafts, little broken bridges, and great heaps of rusty iron lay rose and gold in the setting sun. The ruined old huts, with their tumbled-down fences and gates, that the miners used to live in,' look inlaid with pink and amber, and sparkle red and gold in the sun’s dying radiance. i ■ tn a very few minutes we leave Paeroa miles behind us, and the rocks and banks of the streams we pass are jewelled and gay in the waning splendour. A think white curl of smoke from a fire far across the plains rises till it reaches the clouds, where it settles and rests, making one think of a great white fleecy blanket, edged with gold, .lying on pale mauve satin, which deepens into rich purple where it folds and creases. “Oh ! Lord, how manifold are Thy works, in wisdom hast Thou made them all.” The car swings on, and down an incline, at the foot of which, on the side of the road, is growing a little bush of the beech species. The tiny leaves look like chips of garnet, emerald, and topaz, shining and glistening. Surely this exquisite little shrub must bring inspiration and resolve to the most world-weary passer-by. If s you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill Be a bush in the valley, but be The -best little bush on the side of the ) hill, Be a shrub if you can’t be a tree — seems to have been expressly written for this little jewel. We are nearing Thames new, and the gorgeous colouring of the sky is reflected in the sea, with purple hills in;the background. Nearer and nearer we seem to come to the great goitien wonder, and the deeper shades of orange and red, amethyst and gold, are paling into apple-green, fire-shot lemon, and softest pinks, the sea rippling and spreading like a tremulous carpet of blue and green gems. We turn into the main street of Thames and a feeling of awe and incredulity steals over us, silencing our exclamations of delight, for at the end of the street is’a high .cliff, and there, overlooking the sea, guarding the town, standing as a beacon for ships that pass, is the war memorial of she Thames township. How clever of the people to think of erecting it in just that position. The last rays of the sun turn it into a tower of gold. As one looks one cannot help wondering if it really is the sun that glorifies it to such an extent, or is it the golden hearts of the men for whom it stands that illumines it, making one pause in the midst of pleasure and turn to God in a prayer of thanks. The saints of God ! their conflict past, and life’s long battle won at last. No more they need the shield and ■" sword, They.cast them down before the Lord! Oh ! /Happy saints forever blest, At Jesus’ feet how sweet you rest. Our hearts are filled with love and gratitude, for were it not for these men, would we have had even this one golden hour ?