What we aim at is a new England, a new British Empire after the War, with all its old characteristics, with its old humour, and its love of life, its vigour and its brightness, but sober, pure, GOD-fearing; and beyond the Empire we look for a new Heaven and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness. Why for ever shall we have bitterness between class and class? Why for ever, when this accursed Prussian spirit of militarism is laid in the dust for ever, shall we have the constant menace of War? Why should there not grow to be a spirit of brotherhood in the world, when not only class and class, but nation and nation, shall agree to share the good things with which GOD filled the kindly earth which He has provided as a home for His children? (4) But it would be impossible to leave the subject of the War and Religion without alluding to the part religion plays in throwing _a bright light on Death_. I have no doubt that I am speaking to many to-day who have given their best and brightest in this greatest cause ever fought on earth, who, to paraphrase the famous words of Ruskin, "will never see the sun rise without thinking of those graves it first gilds in Gallipoli, and who will never see the flowers bloom in spring without thinking over whose dear bodies bloom to-day the wild flowers of Flanders." When I, an unmarried man, think to-day of my own spiritual sons, dear to me as if they were my own boys, who have month by month gone to their death, or come home maimed for life, it is almost more than I can bear, and I can do something more than merely sympathize with the father and mother who have given one, two, three, and I have known even four sons in the same cause. I do more than sympathize: I feel with them; I suffer with them. And so with all the young widows whose life's hopes have been cut short in an instant. I live in the midst of the mourners every day. But could I do any good, ladies and gentlemen, _without religion_? I am absolutely certain that I could not. It is a mistake, even with religion, to speak as if death was not death, and pain not pain. One of the most touching things ever said to me was this: "We come to you, Bishop, because _you do not underrate human sorrow_." Underrate it! Why! my wonder and admiration is that they bear it as bravely as they do. Never again to have the cheery letter; never again in this world to see the dear face; never again to feel the loving arms around them and the strong embrace. But, while religion does not pretend to do away with pain and sorrow, it is the one thing which makes it tolerable, which lights up the darkness of death. "As CHRIST died for the world, and my two boys have died in their humble way for the world, may I not consider," wrote a brave Colonel who had lost his two boys in one week, "that CHRIST looks upon them as His comrades in arms?"