Sunday evening at the Front. For a time the fierce bombardment had lessened, and the senses, no longer stupefied by the roar of sounds, could return to one-familiar thoughts.
Private Gordon, mechanically feeling in his pocket, touched his little Testament, and drew it out with a flash of joy. He was a lad who had been brought up in the slums, and one day he had been taken to a Mission Service where Christ, had met with him He had joined the number of God’s people, and until his enlistment in the. Army he had found all his pleasure in the simple meetings.
He was sitting in a square little nook behind a thick wall of sandbags, and his mind went back to the simple room with its band of worshippers. Evening service would be just over, and―why, of course, it was the first Sunday in the month.
Then they would be meeting at the Lord’s Table, with Christ in the midst. How he missed those gatherings! Would he ever join the others again? He longed for the opportunity, never fully-valued till it was past.
Suddenly a thought flashed into his mind—why not join them now in spirit? He glanced round him. His comrades were either at work or occupied with their own affairs. He took up a biscuit, broke off a crumb, and lowered his head in earnest prayer for those at home.
Then, lifting his water-bottle, he put.it to his lips, and drank a sip in memory of the Blood Which was shed for the remission of sins. He murmured softly: “Because He loved me so,” and at this thought a glow of rapture filled his spirit. He knew that the communion of saints was possible, even in the midst of, sorrow and of death; and Christ Himself had met with him, to strengthen and to bless.
Firenze