The war on the Western Front has been fought in a Roman Catholic country where crucifixes are erected at all the chief cross-roads to remind us that, in every moment of doubt as to the way of life, and on whichever road we finally decide to walk, whether rough or smooth, we shall need the Saviour and His redeeming love. We have seen a cross so often when on the march, or when passing down some trench, that it has become inextricably mixed up with the war. When we think of the great struggle the vision of the cross rises before us, and when we see the cross, we think of processions of wounded men who have been broken to save the world. Whenever we have laid a martyred soldier to rest, we have placed over him, as the comment on his death, a simple white cross bearing his name. We never paint any tribute on it. None is needed, for nothing else could speak so eloquently as a cross--a white cross. White is the sacred color in the army of to-day, and the cross is the sacred form. In after years there will never be any doubt as to where the line of liberty ran that held back the flood and force of German tyranny. From the English Channel to Switzerland it is marked for all time with the crosses on the graves of the British and French soldiers. Whatever may be our views about the erection of crucifixes by the wayside and at the cross-roads, no one can deny that they have had an immense influence for good on our men during the war in France. The experience of many a gallant soldier is expressed in the following Belgian poem: "I came to a halt at the bend of the road; I reached for my ration, and loosened my load; I came to a halt at the bend of the road. "O weary the way, Lord; forsaken of Thee, My spirit is faint--lone, comfortless me; O weary the way, Lord; forsaken of Thee. "And the Lord answered, Son, be thy heart lifted up, I drank, as thou drinkest, of agony’s cup; And the Lord answered, Son, be thy heart lifted up. "For thee that I loved, I went down to the grave, Pay thou the like forfeit thy Country to save; For thee that I loved, I went down to the grave. "Then I cried, ’I am Thine, Lord; yea, unto this last.’ And I strapped on my knapsack, and onward I passed. Then I cried, ’I am Thine, Lord; yea, unto this last.’ "Fulfilled is the sacrifice. Lord, is it well? Be it said--for the dear sake of country he fell. Fulfilled is the sacrifice. Lord, is it well?"