And as we knelt in prayer together there in the hut and I arose to
clasp his hand in sympathy, I knew that through service there in
France, through service to your sons, mothers and fathers of America,
this brave man, as well as his wife, were solacing their grief. They
were conquering sorrow in service, thank God.

Yes, there are Silhouettes of Sorrow, but these silhouettes always have
back of them the gold of a new dawn of hope. They are black
silhouettes, but they have a glorious background of sunrise and hope.
I tell of no sorrows here that are not triumphant sorrows, such as will
hearten the whole world to bear its sorrow well when it comes, pray God.

Up at ---- on the beautiful Loire is my friend the secretary. It is a
humble position, and there are not many soldiers there, but he is
serving and brothering, tenderly and faithfully, the few that are
there. No one would ever think of him as a hero, but I do. He, too,
is a hero who is conquering sorrow in service.

His only daughter had been accepted for Y. M. C. A. service in France.
She was all he had. He was a minister at home, and had given up his
church for the duration of the war. Both were looking forward with
keen anticipation to her coming to France. Then came the cable of her
death.

I was there, the morning it arrived, to preach for him. He said no
word to me about the blow. We went on with the service as usual. I
noticed that no hymns had been selected, and that things were not in
very good order for the service. I was a little annoyed at this, but I
am thankful with all my heart this day that I said nothing. I had
decided in my heart that he was not a very efficient religious director