By the Editor
I READ a paper called “The Multitudes,” and I was so much struck with it that I make an extract from it for my Diary.
GOD CARES! DO WE?
There will come a day when we shall stand in His presence. What will it be to look in His face that was so moved with compassion for the heart-hungry multitude, to see that He indeed meant what He said, that His hands were really pierced; and that down there on earth we had some pieces of metal or of white paper that men call money, that we tossed it lightly away or held it fast; or worse still, spent it upon ourselves, until the one chance in all eternity for giving His gospel to a lost world was gone forever, and it was too late! That opportunity is still ours. God grant that we may ask Him now: “Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?”
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Through midnight gloom from Macedon
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How mournfully it echoes on,
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The cry of myriads as of one,
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For half the earth is Macedon;
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The voiceful silence of despair,
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These brethren to their brethren call,
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Is eloquent in awful prayer,
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And by the Love which loved them all,
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The soul’s exceeding bitter cry,
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And by the whole world’s Life they cry,
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“Come o’er and help us, or we die.”
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“O ye that live, behold we die I”
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Acts 16:9.
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S. J. STONE, M.A.
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This is the cry from every battlefield where dying men are, from the trenches, from the rest camps, from the hospitals. God cares! Do we?
A British officer thus described the most terrible part of the awful tragedy of the battlefield:— “It is not the shrieks of the wounded as they fall. It is not the sight of the dead as they lie there; but it is the cry of the wounded boys, crying for their mothers, and there is no one to do anything for them.” God cares! Do we?
The Dying Soldier’s Letter
This letter was published in the Echo de Paris. It was written by a French private soldier as he lay dying on the battlefield of the Marne, and it runs as follows: ― “This happens on Thursday, in the department of the Marne, in the environs of―. I am waiting for help that will never come, and I pray God to take me, for I am suffering horribly. Adieu, my wife and darling children; adieu all my family whom I have loved so much. I ask those of my comrades who find this note to forward it to Paris to my wife, together with my notebook, which I am leaving in the same pocket of my greatcoat. Calling up my last energies, I am writing this stretched out, with my two legs broken, under a hail of lead. My last thoughts are for my children, for thee, my darling wife, the companion of my life, my beloved wife.” God cares! Do we?
Do you care? If you do, help us to send Testaments to these dear lads that want them so. My heart weeps as I think of the awful, terrible need. Every day I am brought face to face with it, and every day it sends me on my knees in earnest prayer to God that He will incline His stewards to send me tens of thousands of Testaments for the dear lads at the Front.
The Mother’s Testament
One writes: ― “A mother sent her lad at the Front a New Testament, writing his name inside. He wrote loving thanks, but said it would have been even more precious had she written ‘From Mother.’ Another was promptly bought, the words ‘From Mother’ written after his name, and sent off. Back came another letter of thanks, adding that he had passed the first one on to a comrade! Has your boy a New Testament with him? Oh, what thousands of mothers today would give anything to have back lost years with past opportunities of reading and praying with their boys―those clear boys now in the thick of battle, but about whose spiritual welfare they are not sure. While we have time let us influence all we can. Pray on, dear mothers; it is the best way by far to reach your dear ones. God understands, and will answer.” God cares! Do we?
A mother writes to me: ― “I thank you for the Testament you have sent my son. Will you please forward one each to my other sons, and also one to a friend?”
A private write: ― “Would you be kind enough to forward me one of your New Testaments? I have seen one that you have sent to my bed-mate, and I am sure he finds it very handy. He is always reading it, and thinks the world of it, and I am sure I shall do the same.”
A driver says: ― “I had the pleasure of receiving the Testament you sent to me. My chums all require one. Will you kindly send one to them?”
A lonely soldier writes: ―
“This is the first time I have had the pleasure of writing to you, but I feel I must write after reading one of your little books given to me by an Army Chaplain. I was a good, Christian lad before I went out to France; now everything seems changed, for I felt so lonely, and miserable, and ashamed of myself, until the chaplain gave me one of your books and cheered me up. Sir, will you be so kind as to send me one of your khaki Testaments? I am sure it would help me to be a good lad again.”
A lance-corporal writes: ―
“Ever so many thanks for the beautiful little Testament you have sent me, and for the post-cards. I am sorry I could not give the cards out, as I was just going over the parapet in the big advance when they were placed in my hands, so I put them on the top of the parapet so that others could get them if they wished. I thought that was the best thing I could do.”
A Post Card Found in a Trench
A gunner in the South African Heavy Artillery sends me a post card filled in with the name and address of a corporal who wanted a Testament. It is stained with what seems to be blood. He says: “Dear Doctor, ―The enclosed post-card was picked up on the battlefield somewhere in France. I happened to come across it in a trench recently occupied by the Germans. I thought perhaps it may prove of some interest and value to you. With every good wish, from R. S―, gunner.” Pray God the dear fellow knew Christ as his Saviour!
Only One in Five Have a Testament
One of the R.A.M.C. who has to go through the clothing of soldiers who have died on the field of battle says that only one in five has a Testament in his pocket. Think of it, dear friends!
What a responsibility is ours in the presence of this terrible truth! God cares! Do we? Do you?
If you care, help us at once to meet all the appeals that reach us. Twelve hundred men went into a battle in one regiment, and only one hundred came out. The dead are gone never to return, but for Christ’s sake let us help the living. One writes me: ― “I have just received your kind letter and little khaki Testament.... I am going to the firing line, I may return or I may not, but in any case you will know that the good you have done is going overseas to be done there tenfold.”
A Closing Word
My Diary must close for September. What numbers of beautiful, appealing letters are beside me that I have no room for now. I feel sure you will send me what I want. For what you have given, I thank you with all my heart, for the sake of Him who died and for the sake of those for whom He died. All gifts acknowledged by Dr. Heyman Wreford, The Firs, Denmark Road, Exeter.