My
poor little boy! God pity us all, and save martyred Belgium!"
In a second letter:
"I enclose my dear little boy's obituary notice. He died at the head
of his company and five hundred and seventy-four of his Grenadiers
went down with him. Their regiment effectively checked the German
advance, and in recognition General Joffre pinned the Cross of the
Legion of Honour to his regimental colours. But we are left to
mourn--though I do no begrudge my share of sorrow. The pain is awful,
and I pray that by the grace of God you may never know what it means."
For King and Country!
The only leaven in this black picture of war as have seen it, as it
has touched me, has been the scarlet of the Red Cross. To a faith that
the terrible scene at the front had almost destroyed, came every now
and then again the flash of the emblem of mercy Hope, then, was not
dead. There were hands to soothe and labour, as well as hands to kill.
There was still brotherly love in the world. There was a courage that
was not of hate. There was a patience that was not a lying in wait.
There was a flag that was not of one nation, but of all the world; a
flag that needed no recruiting station, for the ranks it led were
always full to overflowing; a flag that stood between the wounded
soldier and death; that knew no defeat but surrender to the will of
the God of Battles.
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