SUNDAY READING.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 223, 14 January 1911, Page 9

SUNDAY READING.

NEW YEAR THOUGHTS. Being the sermon delivered by Rev. F. <j. Evans at St. Mary's Church on the last night of the old year.

"So teach us to number our days."— Ps. 90-4.

My home in my old parish was built upon a spur of a great mountain chain between 3000 and 4000 feet high. Not far away there was a bridle track that led through the hills to the country on the east coast of this Island. Several times I took that journey through the mountains. It was a long," winding track passing through lovely bush, by bold, rock headlands, and over noisy, rapid creeks, and opening up scenes of evervarying beauty. When you reached t'lu summit, you turned instinctively round to view the country from which you had come. And this was what you saw. First, a deep, dark river at the foot of the hills, full of rapids and eddies, ami the scene of many a tragedy; then the little busy town, with its traders and shops; then a great plain stretching out before you for many miles, with its plantations of trees, its pretty homesteads, every one of Which one had known and visited; then the long flat roads, in summer dusty, and, in winter, often with hedges coated with frost. The quiet cemetery with its sleeping dead; the distant hills blue and beautiful—all this made a charming and engrossing picture upon which the eye loved to dwell. But when you had gazed upon the old familiar scene, you instinctively turned to the view on the other side of the long range of hills. And this is what you saw: A narrow strip of country, only a few miles wide, "with scattered farms and bush; the seashore indented with innumerable bays, and fringed with the grand pohutukawa trees; and beyond, the boundless ocean, in fine weather lying blue and sparkling in the sunshine; and in the periodic storms lashing the shore with foam. Such were the scenes from that point of vantage on the Coromandel Ranges. And to-night we seem to be metaphorically at such, a point in life; between the old year, passing rapidly away, and the new year, still to come, and for a few minutes to-night we may stand, as it were, at this point of vantage, and look back over the journey we have come —the steep, winding path, sometimes daigerous and slippery, sometimes bright and beautiful, and we can recognise the various points and landmarks that remind us so forcibly of the past. The dark rapid river represents to us that stream called death, to whose brink we have gone with many a weary traveller whose life's journey was almost done. We have heard the voice of bitter crying by that dark stream; and we have tried to cheer and comfort many whose hearts grew faint' as their feet touched those waters. And when the crossing was safely over, we have stood among the shadows with those who tried "to sanctify the grief that must have way." And in the streets of that little town we have symbolised, the business and commerce of life, the daily routine of drudgery and labor, the monotonous round of work and anxiety, the constant fight for an existence or for a competency, all of which in God's good providence is the lot of most people. And then there are the roads of life over which we have travelled; all our journeys of the past, some so sad and weary, others so full of hope and pleasure. Along those roads what thoughts, solemn and gay, have followed us! Wliat ambitions have spurred our steeds, and at other times what disappointments and sorrows have made our journeys wearisome! And then those distant 'homes—ihow they speak to us of the social ties and enjoyments of the past, the happy friendships, the cheerful society, the merry faces! How pleasant it is to remember the sincere greetings, the jolly functions, all those things that bring no regrets! And so, as we take to-night this retrospect of life, we have much to sadden and much to gladden. We must all feel how good God ha 3 been to us; how tender have been His providences; how gracious have been His forgivenesses; how manifold have been His gifts and blessings. And I think we must all be willing to say with full hearts: "Hitherto hath the Lord helped us";

"We praise Thee, 0 God, we acknow ledge Thee to be the Lord; all the earth doth worship Thee, the Father everlasting."

But there is also the anticipation of the future, symbolised by the other side of the, mountain range: the narrow strip of country bounded by the great sea. It seems as if to-night, in some mysterious way, we are enabled to anticipate some of the future that lies before us. We strain our eyes towards the unknown; we try to pierce the mists that •surround the road we have still to travel.' Surely we shall still enjoy the happy social life we have known so long. We hope that those friendsliips that have brought such real pleasure to our hearts may long continue to exist. We look forward to many years of happiness with those we love. And although, in the ordinary course of nature, our paths must diverge, and we shall be separated from those to whom new ties and enterprises must come, yet the bonds of true friendship can never be broken; "and brothers in heart are brothers evermore." But as the shapes of these realities break through the lifting of the mists that hide the perfect view of our future life, we are reminded of the sea that surrounds all human existence. The sea of life rolls around and before us. And what are the leading features of the sea? Unrestfulness and uncertainty. And we may with conviction apply these characteristics to our visions of the future. If I may invent an aphorism, I would say, "Nothing is more permanent in life than .restlessness, and nothing is more certain that uncertainty." Life is indeed symbolised by the restless and uncertain sea. Often in the past after a day of unrest and difficulty and perplexity, we have gone to our beds saying, "To-morrow will be better; we shall begin a life of peace : in the morning." But, alas! with the morning new difficulties and perplexities have arisen, and so life seems to go on for ever. And what is more uncertain than the sea? It is so cruelly fickle: one day dimpled with smiles in the sunshine, as if no tragedy could lie beneath its bright waters, and the next shaking the rocks with its tremendous blows, tearing the sea-flower from its bed, and speaking in thunder tones of tragedy and death. Oh, how true of life! In these modern times, when the whole world is brought before us at' a glance, by the miracle of cable and press, how terrible are the tragedies of our common life and bow strangely mixed up with happiness. A shipwreck, with loss of brave men; a mining disaster, with 350 victims; a burning train, with is awful record of suffering; a thousand saddened homes at Christmas time. And then the carols of the Prince of Peace, the messenger of love and joy; the generous gifts; the happy laughter of children. How complex, indeed, is life! And were it not for the faith and love, which time and change can never take away, from our hearts, we might fear that life would be all storm and danger, and contain little of peace and sunshine for us all. But faith, like the great consolor of human souls, points to the Rock of I Ages, upon which we can rest securely amidst life's surging seas. And through the mists of ocean come glad heavenly voices telling of trust and joy and happi-

ness in that future that is to be. God will make perfect our imperfect life. And SO-

"I follow, follow, sure to meet the sun, And confident that what the future yields will be the right Unless myself am wrong."

And those voices tell us, too, of the stable ami permanent home beyond the unrest and uncertainty of our common life, when we shall dwell with God in that fair land, where the sea shall be no more, where we shall walk beside the placid waters of the river of peace, whereby they make glad the city of fiod, and And rest 'beneath the tree of life that grows besidu the river, the leaves of which are for the healing of tlu> nations. As the thought of that sweet country illuminates our minds in this solemn hour, we may well exclaim with the godly poet: "Oh, could we stand where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream, not Death's cold Hood, "Should flight us from the shore!"