Out on the battlefield a soldier lad is dying. He says to his comrade ere he dies, “Tell them at home I died for England with a good heart.” His friend came back to England with the dead soldier’s message. When he reached London it was late at night, and as he walked along by Piccadilly and Trafalgar Square, and saw the theaters and music-halls pouring out their thousands; as he watched the open sin of the streets, and heard the laughter of the pleasure-seekers, his thoughts went back to the battlefield stained with his comrade’s blood, and it seemed to him as if that blood cried out for vengeance on those who cared nothing for his sacrifice, but only for their wantonness and sin. He could not give the message. Was this the England his comrade had died for with a glad heart?
Yes, the willing blood, shed on a hundred battlefields the blood of our nearest and dearest―will rend the heavens, and call on God to witness against the heartlessness of those who live in such a way while others die. “The Daily Telegraph,” speaks of an officer, whose dying words were:
“I am dying for a country that will forget me in a few months.” The valor of the English may be seen on every battlefield, but the shame of England, at this time of War, will leave an indelible stain, that blood and tears will never wash away.