Said an officer to me--who had
just been brought in badly wounded, and I had written to his wife
assuring her that all was being done to alleviate his suffering and to
effect his recovery (which happily took place)--'Padre, I have been a
wild man all my life, but last night as I lay wounded in the trenches,
for the first time I realized God, and perfect peace came into my
heart.'
A captain in the Guards, badly hit through the lungs with shrapnel,
demanded a good bit of my attention. When he was sent to the Base I
hardly thought that he would survive the journey; however, in due course
he reached England. Some months afterwards I received a letter from his
mother, stating that her boy was slowly climbing back to recovery, and
thanking me for what I had been able to do for him; which was little
enough. At the bottom of the letter was a postscript: 'My darling boy
died at twelve to-day. Just before he passed away he said, "Mother, I am
in perfect peace with God. Give my love to padre."' Those are the kind
of things that make a man thank God for having volunteered to do one's
'bit' in that particular line of life in which he has been placed.
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