“GUNNER WILSON to see you, miss.” “Bring him in here, please,” said Miss Bertram; and as she rose to greet her former Sunday scholar a swift prayer went up from her heart that God would give her the right message for him.
For Jack Wilson had come to wish her good-bye before going with his battery to the Front. He was just nineteen, and a fine specimen of the British soldier — tall and strong, with bright face and honest eyes. He was one of the “first-fruits” of her Bible-class, and she knew that before he had responded to the call of his King and Country, Jack had yielded his heart to the Saviour, and had enlisted in the army of the King of kings.
“I’ve said good-bye at home, miss,” he told her, “and I felt I couldn’t go without seeing you and thanking you again for all the help I got at your Bible-class before I enlisted.”
“I’m glad you came, Jack. I shall often pray for you while you are away. And I’ve thought of a text that I want you always to keep in mind — ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’ I heard of a clergyman who taught a boy to say it like this: one word for each finger of your left hand — count them with your right, so: and when you come to the word ‘my,’ take hold of the fourth finger. That word ‘my’ is the best of all; don’t you think so, Jack?”
“Thank you for reminding me, miss, said Jack, heartily. “It’s good to remember that the Lord is my own Shepherd, and that though I’m only one of all His flock, yet He cares for me.”
He went away, and did his duty bravely, as many another English lad has done. Often, under fire, he would say to himself, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” and the blessed truth enabled him to keep a stout heart and a bright face throughout the first winter of this terrible War.
At last a day came when they knew that a fierce battle was before them. “We shall be in the thick of it in an hour’s time, boys,” said Jack. “I’ll tell you something to hearten you up. I used to be in a Bible-class, and when my old teacher bade me good-bye, she told me to remember The Lord is my Shepherd.’ That is five words, one for each finger of the left hand, and ‘my’ is the fourth: so when I say, ‘my’ I put out my right hand and take hold of that finger. I’ve often done it. Now, mates, let’s all say the text like that.”
A chaplain was passing at the moment, and he stood still and heard Jack’s words.
“I shall never forget the scene,” he said afterward, relating the circumstances. “There was a group of soldiers round Gunner Wilson, and there they stood, reverently repeating after him, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd,’ each grasping his fourth finger as he said the word ‘my.’ They went into action, and Gunner Wilson was mortally wounded.
“He died next day in the hospital, and I saw him after he had passed away. I noticed that the fingers of his right hand were closed round the fourth finger of his left. It was evident that the text that had cheered him in life was his comfort in death.”
F. STRATTON.