American men were dying for me. The picture of that wayside cross,
looming against the lurid light of battle, shall never die in my memory.

It was the silhouette of France and America suffering together, a
silhouette standing out against a livid horizon of fire.

I needed no tiny pocket search-light to read the words on the cross.
They had already burned their way into my heart and into the hearts of
that whole division of American soldiers, that division which has since
so distinguished itself at Belleau Woods! But now America has a new
understanding of the meaning of that sentence, for America, too, is
suffering, and she is sacrificing.

"Traveller, hast thou ever seen so great a grief as mine?"

"Yes, France; we understand now."




IV

SILHOUETTES SPIRITUAL

It was the gas ward. I had held a vesper service that evening and had
had a strange experience. Just before the service I had been
introduced to a lad who said to the chaplain who introduced me that he
was a member of my denomination.

The boy could not speak above a whisper. He was gassed horribly, and