THE SUNDAY CIRCLE.
CHRISTMAS READING FOR THE HOME. CHRISTMAS EVE. In silence of the lonely hills, As shepherds watch were keeping O'er flocks of sheep at, midnight hour. And birds and beasts were sleeping. Through darkened sky they saw a light Amazing in its splendour; And angels fair with gladness sang A new song, sweet and tender, “ To-day the Prince of Peace is born Within a manger lowly; Good will and peace to all He brings— The Son of God most holy.” Whilst listening to angelic hosts Who told the wond’rous story, With awo the shepherds bowed their heads— And praised the King of Glory. A CHRISTMAS PRAYER FOR THE HOME. I Father of all men,' look upon our family, Kneeling together before Thee, And grant us a true Christmas. With loving heart wo bless Thee: For the gift of Thy dear Sou Jesus Christ, For the peace He brings to human homes, For the good will He teaches to sinful men, Fcr the glory of Thy goodness shining in His face.
With joyful voice wo praise Thee: For His lowly birth and His rest in the manger, For the pure tenderness of His mother • Mary, For the fatherly care that protected Him. For the Providence that saved the Holy Child To bo the Saviour of the world. With deep desire we beseech Thee: Help us to keep His birthday truly, Help us to offer, in His name, our Christinas prayer. From the sickness of sin and the darkness of doubt, From selfish pleasures and sullen pains, From the frost of pride and the fever of envy, God save us every one, through the blessing of Jesus. Amen. FRIENDSHIP. The festival of Christmas is a manyfaceted jewel; it has s o many shining aspects, that it may bo considered in countless ways. There is, first, and it should be foremost all the time, the thought of the Word made Flesh: the arrival of the Light of the World, to welcome which we “ come to the little city of Christ and the lodging of Mary.” And then there follows on, remembrance of the old pagan feast of Yule, the celebration of the returning light,—three days past the shortest day; a time of rejoicing and feasting, because the sun had not forsaken the people who sat in darkness. Only those _ who have dwelt on lonely moors, or in hillside regions, where the darkness is literally to bo felt, can fully realise what that means. Then again, Christmas is essentially the Children’s Day: for months ahead they look forward to it with excited anticipation. We grown-up folk may bo rather too tired or too hcartsoro for boisterous junketings; but who would grudge the children their exuberance of delight. The Christmas stocking, and tho Christmas troo. and the legends of Santa Claus which came in with the Prince Consort, have superseded tho rougher merrymaking of the Middle Ages. In Christmas games anti gaieties, tno children are the paramount consideration; in the holy chanties of the season, we are consciously bringing giftto tho Babe of Bethlehem. . . . But. quite apart from those other facets,. Christmas is the Festival of Inendship All the folk we have nearly forgotten to whom wo have had. the twelve month through, no time to write,—the people far away overseas the people whoso hands wo .may reasonably expect never to (hose r-ise up. before us, and claim .a -liar, in our thoughts. Memory and knendslnp are, for grown-up men and women, thorerj doorsteps'of Christinas . , ' Friendship is another of those words which, as I have sometimes pointed out, go shorn of half their significance. A person will continually mention my friend" when he or she mms on bv my acquaintances.” The difference is as wide as the poles. Those whom yon meet casuallv, with whom you exchange some conventional form of hospitality or entertainment-7-who, perhaps, are inclined to bo “ stand-ofiish,” apt to resent any slight abrogation of what they consider their social rights—liable to shift their courtesies to somebody more worth cultivation than yourself; those who, hoarin- of von. trouble, will express orthodox regret, and leave. lk these to be called friends ? I v ish there were some word more nttin D , more veracious—but there doesn t seem to be. “A friend of mine” and “a man 1 know bear such utterly variant meanings, to one’s mere everyday acquaintances, no fervent thoughts, no dear deep memories reach forth at Christmas. A printed card—perhaps only carrying ones name and address— conveys a bald and stereotyped expression of good wishes—-m somebody clso’s phraseology. But to a real friend, one wants to write a letter long or short, it will be valued. “Bv Friendship,” quoth Jeremy Tailor, I mean the greatest love, and the greatest usefulness, and the most open communication, and the noblest Bufferings, and the most exemplary faithfulness, and the sweetest truth, and the greatest union of mind, of which brave men and women are capable.” There s a magnificent definition for you! It makes one want to exclaim, with Thereau, . 1 would I were worthy to be any man s tnend. —for but few of us can, even feebly, attain such glorious heights. And yet, in those years of mud and blood which we call the Great War, there were examples of friendship equivalent to the above. But the standard is a high one heaven-high. Tho friendship which has to stand sharp tests to endure fierce ordeals of lire or frost, is really tho only one worth the name: not that tepid interchange of platitudes which masquerades under a golden title. . Friendship is born for adversity; it thrives best in bitter weather. Shakespeare. all through his cynical iimon of Athens,” is bent on exposing the fallacy of fair-weather friends. “ They were the most needless creatures living, should ive never have need of them; and would most rcsnmble swoot instruments bung up in cases, that keep their sounds to lhempolvos. ,, A genuine, authentic friend is one with whom yon may possibly hold no communication for decades, it really being unnecessary. *' r J hough with these outward signs we part, We keep each other in our heart: What search can find a being, where I am not, if that thou be there?"” At any moment the old intercourse may be resumed, just where we loft it: it" is a trifle scratched, perhaps, by the passage of time, but a touch will restore its burnish. “It is fit for serene days, and graceful gifts, and country rambles; but also for rough roads and hard fare, shipwreck, poverty, and persecution.” And it has not tho violent vicissitudes, the turbulent emotions, the fluctuating ups and downs of human Love; it stands steady and foursquare against “ a’ the airts the wind can blnw,” the solidest thing we know. That is why a quarrel —a real, unmistakable, serious quarrel, based on aparently trivial grounds—between old friends is so very hard to heal. Lovers’ tiffs are easily mended: but a break between friends—why. it is like a fracture in the Great Pyramid. . . . Don't you think some sort of cement might reasonably he applied at Christmas? Above the manger, under the solemn eyes of the oxen, cannot long-sundered hands be knit in close, warm grasp? ... Of course, one might sav. true friends cannot fall out; there must have been a flaw in their bond. But. after all, we arc only mortal honevcombed with flaws and frailties. ."‘‘One (Imre is above all others, Who deserves the name of Friend.” The Friend, Up was always termed by the twelfth-century Persian that was how they looked upon Him. Xot the austere Judge, not the Rex tremendao majestatis. not the omnipotent Creatorhut just. The Friend—lovely and beloved thought! The only one with whom, because " it takes two to make a rmarrel.” we can never disagree. “ Keep Him for thy Friend, Who, when all go away, will not forsake thee ” —so a Kcmpis wrote, and so Piehard Baxter sang He ue n ds not friends that hath Thy love. And may converse and walk with Thee.” There are, no doubt, unhappy souls who
are in common parlance, friendless: anyhow, they will tell you so. It may rrpf*at measure their own fault, iqv a ninn that hath friends must show himsoll friendly”—it is no one-sided nflair. Is it too late to let some ray of rosy light break down their wall of isolation? Can't we, by word or deed, in some obscure, small, simple way. introduce The friend to friendless folk at t. hristmas.' .May Byron, in tiie British M cokly.
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Otago Daily Times, Issue 20290, 24 December 1927, Page 5
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1,423THE SUNDAY CIRCLE. Otago Daily Times, Issue 20290, 24 December 1927, Page 5
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