[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":4},["ShallowReactive",2],{"reading-1224":3},"DECEMBER 24\r\nAnd Isaac went out to meditate in the fields at eventide (Gen. 24:63).\r\nWe should be better Christians if we were more alone; we should do\r\nmore if we attempted less, and spent more time in retirement and quiet waiting upon God. The world is too much with us; we are\r\nafflicted with the idea that we are doing nothing unless we are\r\nfussily running to and fro; we do not believe in \"the calm retreat    the silent shade.\" As a people, we are of a very practical turn of   mind; \"we believe,\" as someone has said, \"in having all our irons in the fire, and consider the time not spent between the anvil and the fire as lost or much the same as lost\" Yet not time is more\r\nprofitably spent than that which is set apart for quiet musing, for\r\ntalking with God, for looking up to Heaven. We cannot have too many of these open spaces in fife, hours in which the soul is left\r\naccessible to any sweet thought or influence it may please God to send.\r\n\"Reverie,\" it has been said, \"is the Sunday of the mind.\" Let us\r\noften in these days give our mind a \"Sunday,\" in which it will do\r\nno manner of work but simply he still, and look upward, and spread itself out before the Lord like Gideon's fleece, to be soaked and\r\nmoistened with the dews of Heaven. Let there be intervals when we\r\nshall do nothing, think nothing, plan nothing, but just lay ourselves on the green lap of nature and \"rest awhile.\"\r\nTime so spent is not lost time. The fisherman cannot be said to be losing time when he is mending his nets, nor the mower when he\r\ntakes a few minutes to sharpen his scythe at the top of the ridge.\r\nCity men cannot do better than follow the example of Isaac, and, as often as they can, get away from the fret and fever of fife into\r\nfields. Wearied with the heat and din, the noise and bustle,\r\ncommunion with nature is very grateful; it will have a calming,\r\nhealing influence. A walk through the fields, a saunter by the\r\nseashore or across the daisy-sprinkled meadows, win purge your fife  from the sordidness, and make the heart beat with new joy and hope.\r\nThe little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday,\r\n\r\nOut in the fields with God. Christmas Eve:\r\nBELLS ACROSS THE SNOW\r\nO Christmas, merry Christmas, Is it really come again,\r\nWith its memories and greetings, With its joy and with its pain!\r\nThere's a minor in the carol And a shadow in the light,\r\nAnd a spray of cypress twining With the holly wreath tonight. And the hush is never broken By laughter light and low,\r\nAs we listen in the starlight To the \"bells across the snow.\"\r\nO Christmas, merry Christmas, Tis not so very long\r\nSince other voices blended   With the carol and the song!\r\nIf we could but hear them singing, As they are singing now,\r\nIf we could be see the radiance\r\nOf the crown on each dear brow,\r\nThere would be no sigh to smother, No hidden tear to flow,\r\nAs we listen in the starlight\r\nTo the \"bells across the snow.\"\r\nO Christmas, merry Christmas, This never more can be;\r\nWe cannot bring again the days Of our unshadowed glee,\r\nBut Christmas, happy Christmas,\r\nSweet herald of good will, With holy songs of glory    Brings holy gladness still.\r\nFor peace and hope may brighten,\r\nAnd patient love may glow,\r\nAs we listen in the starlight\r\nTo the \"bells across the snow.\"\r\n--Frances Ridley Havergat",1783499794568]