The words of a young pilot, aged eighteen, are before me, words written in a last home letter to his Mother in Shanghai. Ee was killed while. flying a "Spitfire" on active service in. France: "This will be a strenuous time for us all, Mummy darling, but it's got to be. We cannot let Hitler dominate our Empire. I want you to know that I am proud to have been chosen for the Royal Air Force, and I feel sure you will be counted as one of the lucky Mothers, who had a son who could pass the test. Thank you for all you have done and are still doing for me......thank you a thousand times for your love, pluck, and bravery. If by any chance I don't come back, don't grieve too much, Mummy dear. I shall have given my life for England. What can a fellow do more? And all feel the same way as I do, and hope to make a happier worl As we read these words pity for the officer's death is lost in the glow and admiration for the indomitable spirit of the man who met it. Of such a passing we may say, indeed, with Paul:
"Death, where is thy sting Grave, where is thy victory?
Perusing these words has brought to my mind that celebrated picture by G. F. Watts—"The Happy Warrior." I would like to send a reproduction of it as an expression, the only pathy with all mothers who have sons in our cause. The grasped the fact that suc! warriors cannot be otherwise than hap! life and happy in their death. His the portrayal of a defeat, but of a victory; it is not so much an exit from life that he sets forth, as an entrance into it. The kiss of a heavenly ministrant given to the- young hero as he falls back mortally wounded is much more than a kiss of peace; it is a kiss of welcome to higher service. The painting is a silent endorsement of the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant: Enter thou late the joy of thy Lord." For glory breaks through the darkness of the clouds and illumines the hero's face with a more than earthly beauty. These eyes have closed to earthly sights, but to the triumphant spirit there has come a vision of eternal splendour. Let us write beneath the picture Wordsworth's exquisite lines:
"Heaven's sweet, welcoming messenger hath kissed thee—
Rest, happy warrior! We shall meet again, And know thy sacrifice was not in vain."
You heroes who in this great world struggle are giving your lives for the cause of honour and righteousness—we who profit by your sutforings, shall we not emulate your zeal prove ourselves worthy of your offering? nesses" is the word employed by the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews to describe those dauntless men who have played their part and who now with ardent look gaze upon us who vecupy the arena, Dare we allow ourselves, while men are dying, to be so blinded. and benumbed by the pleasures of the world as to fall into indifference and unbelief, and thus to disappoint their expectations in us? A soldier was overheard (o say in a railway carriage: "This war has taught me one thing: I don't believe there is any God, but I believe there is a devil, and I believe there is a hell, for Ive been there." Is this a god-fórsaken, devil-possessed world? Surely not—our Happy War-riots are impressing upon us a higher.creed. Their heroic death witnesses to a Divine Purpose ever working for right and justice, and their loyalty challenges us to a like loyalty. Victory is being made possible by the sacrificial heroism of a vast noble army of happy warriors and we must not fail them. "Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong," wrote St. Paul to the Corinthians, and today the apostle pens the same summons o us.
Humbly O England, we offer what is of little worth, odics and souls and everything else But thou with thy holy cause wilt hallow our common earth, Giving us strength need, in the gra the battle—and peace
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.