the roof off. I had taken some hymn-sheets, for I
love to hear them sing. I never choose a hymn for them--I always let them
choose their own hymns. There is wisdom in that. If they have asked for
something and don't sing it, I can come down on them. Among the great
hymns they choose are these:

"Jesu, Lover of my soul,"

and I have heard them sing,

"Cover my defenceless head,"

with the shells falling close to them. I have heard them sing,

"I fear no foe ..."

with every seat and every bit of building round us rocking with the
concussion of things. And then they will choose:

"The King of Love my Shepherd is,"
"The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want,"
"Abide with me,"
"Rock of ages, cleft for me,"

and the one they love, I think, most of all is,

"When I survey the wondrous Cross."

Those are the hymns they sing, the great hymns of the Church--the hymns
that all Christian people sing, about which there is no quarrelling. It's
beautiful to hear the boys.

That night I said, "I have brought some hymn-sheets. I thought we might
have some singing, but I'm afraid it's too dark."

Instantly one of the boys brought out of his tunic about two inches of
candle and struck a match, and in three minutes we had about twenty pieces
of candle burning. It was a weird scene.

After the hymns I began to talk, and the candles burnt lower, and some of
them flickered out, and I could see a boy here and there twitch a bit of
candle as it was going out.

I said, "Put the candles out, boys. I can talk in the dark."

It was a wonderful service, and here and there you could hear the boys
sighing and crying as they thought of home and father and mother. It isn't
difficult to talk to boys like that.

* * * * *

There is no hymn of hate in your boys' hearts. I have known them take a
German prisoner even after he has played the cruel thing; but there! he
looked hungry and wretched, and in a few minutes they have shared their
rations and cigarettes with him. I call that a bit of religion breaking
out in an unlikely place. The leaven's in the lump, thank God!

* * * * *

I was speaking at a convalescent camp. Every one of the boys had been
badly mauled and mangled on the Somme. This particular day I had about
seven or eight hundred listeners. It wa