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A young soldier, scarce a month from his peaceful home, standing now in the excitement of the field, asked in a tense whisper, with white, quivering lip, “Do you think there will be a battle?” Almost as he spoke there leaped from a wooded crest near by flashing tongues of flame that brought death to hundreds. Later, in a terrible struggle, this brave boy was still at his post. The weakened line was wavering, however, and the lad’s brother, an old veteran, saw it, and rushed for an instant from his post of duty, and sought along the trembling line for the boy he loved as his own soul. As his eye fell upon him, faithful still, he laid his hand upon the lad’s shoulder, and said: “Be a man, John.” The tide of battle ebbed and flowed, and when the moon rose after that tumultuous day, its pale beams shone on John’s face, white and cold, lying where he had stood, his feet the very foremost in the pallid ranks toward the foe.
We are all in a battle that will not end for us until in our turn the moon’s beams shine down upon each one of our faces, when we sleep on the field. We must be faithful. Then at the end we must stand before our king, and make report to him of what we have done. Will he then say to us, “thou hast been faithful?” I would rather have that at the close of my life – “Thou hast been faithful” – than wear earth’s brightest crown and be unfaithful.