How near the Lord Jesus is to the soldier on the battlefield who looks to Him! Our dear friend M. M―., of Worthing, has sent me the following beautiful incident. It is a true story of a wounded Highlander in the Boer War.
Out on the veldt in the lonely night,
A wounded soldier lay―
A surgeon answered his cry of fright,
And he searched ‘mid the faces gray,
Glad at heart if he yet might be
A comfort to friend or enemy.
Over the boulders here and there
He stepped till he found his man;
And a quiver of sympathetic care,
Through his quickened pulses ran,
As he gently raised from its stony bed,
That dying lad’s unconscious head.
The kindly touch brought a gleam of light
Into the dying eye,
Which scanned the surgeon’s kindly face,
In wondering surprise,
And he said, and his tones a question bore―
“Have you not been at my side before?”
No, do you say? Yet someone came,
As I lay on my rocky bed.
And He spoke such pitiful words to me,
With His hand upon my head.
What did He say? O sentence blest!
‘Come unto Me, I will give you rest.’”
“Do you think it was Jesus—Jesus, sir?”
But reason failed once more;
And the kindly surgeon was fain to stay,
Till the sufferer’s need was o’er.
And presently on the midnight chill
His voice rang out o’er-the silent hill.
“Oh! see, He is there again,” he said,
“And He is beckoning me.
“I am coming, Lord,” but as he spoke,
His wounds broke full and free;
And his soul went out of his prison gate
To the city of glory where Jesus waits.
Do you think it was Jesus? I do, I do,
And I bless Him with all my heart,
That He should be so near, so true
To do a Saviour’s part;
So near to comfort, so swift to claim
That dying sinner who knew His name.
He spoke to Abraham as a friend—
And Jacob held Him fast.
He cleared the eyes of the sightless man,
Who called Him as He passed.
And now by the bed on the mountain side
He comforted one for whom He died.
Not often doth He appear today,
In bodily form to bless.
But come, Lord, come in some gracious way,
At the end of my wilderness.
Be my call as clear and my heart as glad
As that which was given that Highland lad.
Anon.