I have been sitting this morning under a Presbyterian Minister, Dr. Hugh Black, whose eloquence so moved the Prime Minister, Mr. Lloyd George (who kindly gave me a seat in his pew, on the other side of me being President Wilson, at the Presbyterian Church in Paris on May 25th, 1919), that the moment the service was ended the Prime Minister went straight to him in the pulpit and told him it was one of the best sermons he had ever heard. And it probably was. One word Dr. Black used was very descriptive. He described us all, except those homeless ones for whom the Saviour pleaded in Dr. Black’s text, as the “sheltered” classes. I think also our feelings in the congregation (not that I wish to derogate from the sermon) had been intensely moved by the magnificent singing on the part of the great congregation (mostly American Citizens) of the Battle Hymn of the American Republic, composed by Julia Ward Howe. The tune (“John Brown’s Body”), as Mr. Sankey said, no doubt has much to do with the glorious emphasis of the chorus; but certainly the words are magnificent:-- BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. Mine eyes have seen the Glory of the Coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fatal lightning of His terrible swift sword, His truth is marching on. Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! His truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps, His day is marching on. Glory, etc. I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel; “As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal” Let the Hero born of woman crush the serpent with His heel, Since God is marching on. Glory, etc. He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His Judgment seat; Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. Glory, etc. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea; With the glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. Glory, etc. It reminded me of the 76th Psalm, sung by those old Covenanters when they vanquished Claverhouse at Drumclog. We see the Battle Field of Drumclog from the room where we are now talking. “In Judah’s land God is well known, His name’s in Isr’l great.” I began a letter (but diffidence made me stop it) to Sir William Watson the poet, to ask him if he couldn’t give us some such great Hymn for the Nation.