IN thousands of homes today there is the coming and going of officers and soldiers “home on leave.” For some the leave will be a long one; others have orders to rejoin their regiments at once. But how, it brightens the home to see the dear ones once again! But what of those who will never see their loved ones on earth any more? NO “home on leave” for those who lie buried by the battlefield where they have fought and died. The awful silence — no letters coming — no hampers to be sent — the silence of the grave and eternity — at home the closed room — the untouched things belonging to the loved and lost. Memory recalling while the heart is well-nigh breaking, what he said, and what he did. And the heart cries in an ecstasy of grief the words of the poet when he says: —
‘My son! My son!”
Would God that I had died for thee.
For my full course is well-nigh run,
But thine in its sweet ecstasy
Was scarce begun,
Yet now is done yet — now — is — done!
Would God that I had died for thee,
My son! My son!
I. O.
But, as one has beautifully said, “The parting always lies behind us; the welcome and the reunion always lies before.”
I cannot find words to thank our dear friends for their loving sympathy with us in our loss. But we shall see our boy again.