Still we stand deep in
France. Au revoir a Paris, Madame."
He signs it "Yours truly," and then his name.
Not Calais, then, but Paris!
CHAPTER XXXVII
AN ARMY OF CHILDREN
It is undeniably true that the humanities are failing us as the war
goes on. Not, thank God, the broad humanity of the Red Cross, but that
individual compassion of a man for his wounded brother, of which the
very fabric of mercy is woven. There is too much death, too much
suffering. Men grow calloused. As yet the loss is not irretrievable,
but the war is still only a matter of months. What if it is to be of
years?
France and Belgium were suffering from a wave of atheism before the
war. But there comes a time in the existence of nations, as in the
lives of individuals, when human endeavour seems useless, when the
world and the things thereof have failed. At such time nations and
individuals alike turn at last to a Higher Power. France is on her
knees to-day. Her churches are crowded. Not perhaps since the days of
chivalry, when men were shriven in the churches before going out to
battle, has France so generally knelt and bowed her head--but it is to
the God of Battles that she prays.
On her battlefields the priests have most signally distinguished
themselves. Some have exchanged the soutane for the uniform, and have
fought bravely and well.
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