“I can’t stand it,” said an old gentleman to me the other day, the tears standing in his eyes. “I have been looking at the photographs of those on the Roll of Honor in an illustrated paper. To think of those brave young fellows dead!” Yes, the toll of death is terrible — officers and men. And the wounded! They crowd our hospitals; we see them limping along our streets, or with arms in slings, and we feel we want to take them by the hand, and look into their faces, and say to them: ―
“You’ve looked into the face of death,
And God has called you back;
Now look into the face of Christ,
And nothing shall you lack.”
Dear fellows! Would to God they were all saved! The other day, when I had posted sixty parcels that our dear brother had packed, I went on my knees and asked God to bless every parcel, and I felt assured that God would bless everyone. I could seem to see them unpacked and distributed — eager hands taking them, and eager eyes reading them — and God answering our prayers all the time. “There are no infidels in the trenches,” a wounded soldier said to a chaplain. “God is jolly near you in the trenches,” said another. And in the “Sunday at Home” we are told of a letter written in the trenches by a man who gave himself to Christ there. “To my darling wife and children. Daddy surrendered to Jesus 20/11/14, at Ypres. Sudden death — sudden glory. Safe in the arms of Jesus.”
Ah! I do thank God for all who are working for Him among the soldiers now. I feel what an unspeakable privilege it is to be able to respond, even in a small way, to their appeal for Testaments, Gospels and books.
The “roll of honor” is kept in heaven in the Book of God. In the Lamb’s Book of Life the name of every believer is inscribed, and when the “roll is called up yonder,” thank God, many a man who went into eternity scarred and wounded in the War will answer to his name. Let us work on, and know more and more what true soldiership is. Let Wesley’s words ring in our ears and sink down into our hearts: —
“Soldier of Christ, child of God! walk worthy of the vocation wherewith thou art called. Remember the faith; remember the Captain of thy salvation. Fight, conquer, die, and live forever!”
He stands best who kneels most.
He stands strongest who kneels weakest.
He stands longest who kneels lowest.
“Isn’t it Too Late?”
“Isn’t it too late?” The man who asked the question was lying upon a low bed in a private ward of a great military hospital. His fine, manly frame was wasted by the ravages of a slow fever, and his keen eye was only now showing signs of intelligence after days of unconscious ravings.
“Isn’t it too late?” repeated Sergeant McAlpine.
“No!” I answered firmly; it is never too late.”
Then, as he closed his eyes again, I thought over the sad story of his life, which I knew so well. Much of it I had known before he came into hospital; the rest I had learned little by little during the days of his long illness.
Soon after the regiment had come to our garrison town, a letter arrived for me. It was from a Highland manse, and it ran much as follows: — “I believe my son is in the regiment which has just gone to your town. He is my only son. I gave him every chance in life, a good education, a splendid training as an engineer, and all he wanted for pleasure. But he flung away all his chances. He must have got into some trouble I never knew of, for he enlisted — and he won’t come home. The door is, always open to him―and I am heart-broken. Can’t you do something for him?”
When I found him on the barrack square and pleaded with him to remember his aged father, he carelessly replied: “It’s too late now!”
It was not long before his regiment was ordered to the Cape. The day before he left I gripped his hand and said, “McAlpine, your father in the Highlands and your Father in heaven are calling you — calling you to turn from your sinful living. There may be no need for you to leave the Army — but why not leave the sin?” But he turned away, saying, “No, sir, it’s too late now!”
Nearly a year passed, and he was invalided home. A rifle shot had shattered his left arm, and it was still uncertain whether medical skill could save him. He was in hospital for many weeks, and I had many a serious talk with him. On one occasion I had said, “McAlpine, you were meant to be a clean, strong man. You cannot really be that without the help of Jesus Christ. And He is still calling you. When are you going to rise and follow Him?”
“It’s too late now,” he said in the sad phrase I had so often heard from him. As he turned away I caught a look of hopeless despair upon his handsome face.
McAlpine recovered the use of his arm at length, and was able to continue in the Service. He stayed on in barracks with us. But the old habits of wild living had enslaved him hopelessly. He gave way to drink and sin, and now he was paying the penalty in weeks of wasting fever.
The doctor feared he would not rally. And, as I sat by his side during his conscious hours, I sought to tell him again the “old, old story of Jesus and His love.” Simply and earnestly, I told the story of the strong Son of God, who came “to seek and to save that which was lost.” I pictured Him coming into a sinful world to make known the great love of God to sinful men, and going to the Cross of Calvary that He might bear away their guilt.
Suddenly he looked up, with a sad, hopeless smile, and said: “But — it’s too late — now.”
“McAlpine,” I replied, “it’s never too late with God — and you know it. This very moment you may accept His full and free salvation. If you will but look to Him in faith, He will cleanse you from all sin; He will slay the passions within you: He will give you a new life. Why not trust Him now?”
“I fear it’s,—” he faltered — and then stopped. For some minutes I watched him. His face seemed to indicate some terrible inward struggle. Then he opened his eyes and asked, “Are you really sure it isn’t too late?”
“Yes; quite sure!” I answered. “Today if ye will hear His voice, harden not your heart.’”
Again he lay still awhile. Then his eyes opened and they were alight with hope and happiness. “No,” he said, “it isn’t too late — and I ani going to trust Him now.”
That decision was the turning-point for McAlpine. New life seemed to come to him in body and in soul. He mastered the fever and was well again in a fortnight. He went back to backs, but the old sins had no attraction for him now. He was a free man — saved by the grace of God.
For the Lord’s Sake
A friend sends a gift for soldiers and sailors, and is praying for showers of blessing. Another sends help and says, “We will continue to ask His blessing!’ A lady sends a gift for Testaments, etc., and says she will pray for God’s richest blessing to go with the Testaments. From a village of one hundred and seventy-one people a gift comes to buy two hundred Testaments for the soldiers. Children brought their pennies to the schoolmistress, who sends. The villagers say they are pleased to do anything to help the soldiers. Kingston, Jamaica, a dear Christian sends a gift “in His name.” Another from Kingston, Jamaica, sends help for Testaments, Gospels, etc., and says, “May God abundantly bless!” A friend sends a gift and says, “The Word knows no defeat.” Other friends at a meeting send and say, “We shall continually pray that our God will greatly bless you in this work of faith and labor of love.” From Guernsey a gift. From Ireland a gift in the Lord’s name. Lady R — sends help for the work. A friend sends gift and writes, “The Lord grant you still your heart’s desires.” Another writes, “I thankfully send enclosed for the work of God. May God bless the work abundantly, and you for His glory.” Another sends and says, “For the Doctor’s monthly parcel; the dear Lord knows the sender.” A friend sends gifts from friends, and a box of texts. A friend “S” has sent her monthly gift. From “M,” the Children’s gift, I receive and answer hundreds of letters a month from kind friends, and I love to do it. I am only sorry that I cannot refer to them here. I can only print a few taken as they come, and leave the rest. I could easily fill the “Message” with letters. “The Lord knows the sender,” is true in every case. While you help me, dear friends, I shall continue to send. May the Lord bless you all for your kindness to our soldiers and sailors.
“ How Can I be Saved?”
Would some kind friend send me some of these? A worker at the Front writes, “You will praise God that the book, ‘How Can I Be Saved?’ has been blessed to one dear man.” I am continually asked by Army Scripture Readers and others to send them. Will friends help me to get 10,000? I want them badly.
Bibles or Testaments
If any of our friends have Bibles or Testaments in French or English, not too worn, that they do not want, I shall be glad of them to put in the parcels. They are much valued in the hospitals and at the Base, also on board ship. I should be glad of some hundreds. I am your servant for Christ’s sake as to this work, dear friends. We are “sowing together, and we shall reap together, if we faint not.”
An Appeal Just Come
From France, June, 1915.
“Dear Sir, — I should be very grateful if you would kindly send me a good supply of your very helpful tracts. I can give away about five hundred daily, where I believe they will be read, and I am sure God is using them to His glory and the salvation of precious souls. Also as many Testaments and Gospel portions as friends could send. Today I used two of the parcels of books, etc., you kindly sent to Mr. W―. Men are being saved all over this station wherever Jesus is lifted up. Thanking you for all past help and sympathy.”
FRIENDS! YOU MUST HELP!
Note. — If any soldier or sailor is anxious about his soul and will write to Dr. Heyman Wreford, The Firs, Denmark Road, Exeter, he will be glad to help them if he can.
Just Come. — “Dear Sir, — Kindly accept few shillings towards sending out Testaments, etc., for soldiers and sailors. Yours sincerely, A Bluejacket.”