"Like one who had just won a victory. He was much taller and grander in appearance. Oh, he looked like one who had realized God's promise that we should be satisfied. A kind of radiance was around him and the air of a conquering soldier. And he was my boy still! He called me 'Mother,' he sent such a wonderful message to his father." And at the last word, Ragnor uttered just such a sharp, short gasp as might have come from the rift of a broken heart. "Did you ask him any question, Rahal?" "I could not speak, but my soul longed to know what he was doing and the longing was immediately answered. 'I am doing the will of the Lord of Hosts,' he said. 'I was needed here.' Then I felt his kiss on my cheek, and I lifted my head and looked at the clock. It had struck three just as I was conscious of the presence of Boris. It was only two minutes past three, but I seemed to have lived hours in that two minutes." "Do you think, Bishop, that God loves a soldier? He may employ them and yet not love them?" Then the Bishop straightened himself and lifted his head, and his face glowed and his eyes shone as he answered, "I will give you one example, it could be multiplied indefinitely. Paul of Tarsus, a pale, beardless young man, dressed as a Roman soldier, is bringing prisoners to Damascus. Christ meets him on the road and Paul knows instantly that he has met the Captain of his soul. Hence forward, he is beloved and honoured and employed for Christ, and at the end of life he is joyful because he has fought a good fight and knows that his reward is waiting for him. "God has given us the names of many soldiers beloved of Him--Abraham, Moses, Joshua, Gideon, David, etc. What care he took of them! What a friend in all extremities he was to them! All men who fight for their Faith, Home and Country, for Freedom, Justice and Liberty, are God's armed servants. They do His will on the battlefield, as priests do it at the altar. So then, "In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb driven cattle, Be a hero in the strife!" "We were speaking of the bards going to the battlefield with the soldiers, and as I was quoting that verse of Longfellow's a few lines from the old bard we call Ossian came into my mind." "Tell us, then," said Thora, "wilt thou not say the words to us, our dear Bishop?" "I will do that gladly: "Father of Heroes, high dweller of eddying winds, Where the dark, red thunder marks the troubled cloud, Open Thou thy stormy hall! Let the bards of old be near. Father of heroes! the people bend before thee. Thou turnest the battle in the field of the brave, Thy terrors pour the blasts of death, Thy tempests are before thy face, But thy dwelling is calm above the clouds, The fields of thy rest are pleasant."