DURING the disastrous war between the Northern and Southern States of America, a traveler, when visiting those scenes of desolation, entered what may be called a soldier's cemetery—the place where the slain had been buried after the battle of Chickamauga. The visitor's attention was arrested by a man planting flowers on one of its lonely and humble graves. He softly drew near, feeling that the scene was hallowed by such memorials of tender love.
“Is it a son that lies buried here?" kindly inquired the stranger. "No," was the reply. "A son-in-law?" "No." "A brother?" "No." "A relation?" "No," was still the brief reply. "Whose memory, then, may I venture to ask, do you so sacredly cherish" Pausing a moment to give vent to his emotion, he gave the following account of the young volunteer whose memory and remains were so dear to him:—
“When the war broke out, I was drafted to go and join the army. No draft money was given me, and I was unable to procure a substitute, and made up my mind to go. Just as I was leaving home to report myself for duty at the conscript camp, a young man whom I had known called on me and offered to go in my stead. You have a large family,' he said, which your wife cannot support when you are gone. I am a single man, I have no one depending upon me, I will go for you.' He went. In the battle which was fought here, the dear generous young man fell dangerously wounded. He died in the hospital, and was buried here. Ever since his death it has been my desire to visit the place of his interment, and having saved sufficient money for the purpose, I arrived yesterday, and today found his grave." Having concluded his touching story, he again bent over the grave, planted another flower, and, we doubt not, watered it with his tears.
The enquirer passed on, but his heart was too deeply affected with a sight, such as he had never seen before, and such as he is not likely ever to see again, to go far away. He returned to look once more on that sacred spot. But, oh! what now met his eyes! A sight that heaven itself would look down well pleased to see. Not only was the volunteer's grave now garlanded with flowers, but a rough board was placed at the end of the turf, on which were simply carved these few, but touching, weighty words—“HE DIED FOR ME.”
Nothing more. Nothing could be added without marring its perfectness. We know not which to admire most—the grateful love, the refined taste, or the sublime sentiment, of this remarkable, poor man. It stands alone, we hesitate not to say, in its great idea, amongst all the epitaphs in the world. Surely he must have known Him who died the sinner's substitute; and the confession of faith, which has been long on record, Who loved me, and gave himself for me." There, is only one great original. But, oh! what a lesson, what an example, what a rebuke, to me, to thee, my reader, to all mankind!
The volunteer died in generously taking his poor neighbor's place and saving him from the consequences of joining the Southern army; but the blessed Lord Jesus Christ died to save us from the consequences of sin—eternal misery. Not merely from poverty and suffering in this life, but from the torments of hell forever; where the worm dies not, and the fire is not quenched. "If one died for all," as the scriptures plainly teach—though all will not be saved, for all men have not faith (2 Cor. 5:1414For the love of Christ constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead: (2 Corinthians 5:14); 1 Tim. 2:5, 65For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus; 6Who gave himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time. (1 Timothy 2:5‑6); 2 Thess. 3:22And that we may be delivered from unreasonable and wicked men: for all men have not faith. (2 Thessalonians 3:2))—who then can be guiltless if grateful honors are not shown to His name We are not asked to garland His tomb, or to inscribe our faith on His cross; but we are asked to believe in His love, and in His dying in our stead, And faith will always make His love and His death as personal as Paul did; "who loved me, and gave himself for me." Not merely, He died for us or them, but “He died for me.”