It is an army, with its titles rambling into all languages, a soldiery
spreading over all lands, a banner upon which the sun never goes down-with
its head in the heart of a cluster of islands set in the grey, wind-blown
Northern seas, while its territories are scattered over every sea and
under every sky.

The world has wondered what has been the controlling force holding this
strange empire together. What is the electro-magnetism governing its
furthest atom as though it were at your elbow? What is the magic sceptre
that compels this diversity of peoples to act as one man? What is the
master passion uniting these multifarious pulsations into one heart-beat?

Has it been a sworn-to signature attached to bond or paper? No; these can
all too readily be designated "scraps" and be rent in twain. Has it been
self-interest and worldly fame? No, for all selfish gain has had to be
sacrificed upon the threshold of the contract. Has it been the bond of
kinship, or blood, or speech? No, for under this banner the British master
has become the servant of the Hindoo, and the American has gone to lay
down his life upon the veldts of Africa. Has it been the bond of that
almost supernatural force, glorious patriotism? No, not even this, for
while we "know no man after the flesh," we recognize our brother in all
the families of the earth, and our General infused into the breasts of his
followers the sacred conviction that the Salvationist's country is the
world.

What was it? What is it? Those ties created by a spiritual ideal. Our love
for God demonstrated by our sacrifice for man.

My father, in a private audience with the late King Edward, said: "Your
Majesty, some men's passion is gold; some men's passion is art; some men's