The Last Sentry on the Western Line

The battle trenches run for hundreds of miles from the ocean to the borders of Switzerland on the western Front. Every inch has to be patrolled and guarded by night and by day. The hardships our men have endured in these trenches can scarcely be conceived. In wintry weather, up to their waists in liquid mud, men constantly being drowned in shell holes; thousands of rats running along the parapets and up and down the trenches, and vermin covering the bodies of clean and healthy men. One lieutenant wrote home about the loneliness of his watch at night in the trench. The dead all around him in the darkness, and under his feet as he trod his measured beat. When the trenches are bombarded an officer told me you just have to sit down with your back to the trench wall and wait. A shell may burst in the trench and maim or kill you, or the parapet may be smashed in and you may be buried underneath. All these hardships are cheerfully faced by brave and trained men, resolute to do their duty. And the unbelief and pleasure and sin of England is causing the death of thousands of these brave men. It is inexplicable that women can throng the theaters and cinemas when their dearest are thus face to face with death. We ought to be on our knees crying to God for these sentinels whose watchful guard is keeping us safe. The man in the picture, close to the tossing sea, must think of home across the pathless deep. His loved ones are on the other side; will he ever see them again? God in heaven bless our soldiers! May every man in the trenches have the Word of God in his pocket. Help us to send the Testaments to them. Held us at once, and God will bless you.