never appeared in any hymn-book, and I wanted to make sure that it _was_
the greatest hymn in the English language which was being sung. It was a
quiet night. Now and again a heavy gun fired a round, and infrequently,
on a gentle wind blowing from the trenches, was borne the rattle of a
machine-gun. From all the camp arose the subdued confused noise of an
army settling to rest for the night. Some tents were in darkness, in
others a candle burned, and here and there braziers still glowed redly.
It was from one of the lighted tents that the singing came, each part
being taken, and a sweet clear tenor voice leading. The tune was old
'Communion,' and they had just come to this verse:

'Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ, my God:
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.'

How often have we sung that, perhaps thoughtlessly, in comfort at home,
but these lads had in truth sacrificed the 'vain things.' With a lump in
my throat I waited for the last verse:

'Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my life, my soul, my all.'




HOW THE ROYALS HELD THE BLUFF: AN EPISODE OF TRENCH WARFARE