street , Owen .*,SolonA. Perkins. Lovrell, 1863. Z^zx^ "Y^ILE«¥]MH¥IE]^Sflir¥- From the Library of SIMEON E. BALDWIN, Y '6i Gift of his children HELEN BALDWIN GILMAN ROGER SHERMAN BALDWIN, Y '90 1927 DISCOURSE DEUVERKD AT THE HIGH ST. CHURCH, LOWELL, MASS., JCTETE 21, 1%G3, ON KBCEiVING INTELLIGENCE OF THE btlj of yitut. S0I011 1^. f trlims, OF THE 2D MASSACHUSETTS CAVALRY, WHO FELL NEAR PORT HUDSON, LOUISIANA, IN A CIIAKGE Ui'ON THE ENEMY, JtriJ-B 3d, 1803. BY REY. OWEN STEEET. ' DCtCE BT DEOORUM EST PKO PATRI.I MOKI." LOWELL: CITIZEN & NEWS PRESS, KNAPP & MOKEY, PEINTEllSj 41 Central Street. 1 8 6 3 •. DISCOURSE IsA. Lx. 16. " For by fire, and by His sword will the Lord plead with all flesh : and the slain of the Lord shall be many." The sword of the Lord is a sword in human hands. When He brought destruction upon the Midianites, it was by " the Sword of the Lord and of Gideon." " The wicked," in their persecutions of the people of God, are said to be " His sword," And the Savior said, " Think not that I am come to send peace on earth : I came not to send peace, but a sword." And even after His ascension, it was said of Him when He was represented as " treading the wine-press of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God," — " in righteousness doth He judge and make war." There is a point of contemplation from which all wars may be regarded as the unsheathing of the Sword of the Lord. It is not merely that His Prov idence is concerned in all things, so that no event can disappoint Him, or overturn His counsels ; — but He wields the wild hurricane of war, as He does the tem pest and the lightning ; and turns the torrent of de struction and distress upon whomsoever He will. He holds the passions of mankind under restraint until the affairs of the world have reached a point where He sees occasion to interpose a check or to inflict a punishment ; or to administer the terrible discipline 4 that is conveyed in His judgments ; and then He lets loose the fiery ruin, and sends it as He does the pestilence, to do His secret bidding. There is nothing that to man is more proverbially uncertain than the fortune of war. It has been said again and again, during the present rebellion, that no man can predict the result of a single battle. He cannot tell what combinations on the one side may bafiie all that num bers and skill, and the most determined bravery can do on the other. No one could tell before-hand how the battle of Waterloo ' would end. Napoleon was confident, and Wellington was anxious. No one can tell in regard to a single battle, upon whom the cas- ualtles will alight. There is not one man in an army of fifty thousand, concerning Avhom we have the means of knowing that he will come out of the con flict alive, or that he will not. But that which no man knows, in the case, God does know. And He not only knows, but He directs and controls the con fused and surging elements. He directs them with the same foresight and certainty that control the foot steps of disease in the time of peace. Not a bullet flies through the air, but He directs its course. Not a shot is aimed too high or too low, but He ordained every flutter of the nerves, and every twitch of the muscles that produces the mistake. Not a random shot takes effect, but its whole force and range and direction, entered into His plan : it is no random sfiot to Him. The death of Ahab, king of Israel, in battle at Ramoth-Gilead, and the place where his blood should be washed from his chariot were not only known be fore-hand to God, but distinctly predicted : and yet ^t was what is called a random shot, that killed him. 5 " A certain man drew a bow at a venture," and the arrow penetrated between the joints of the harness, and gave him a mortal wound. This archer took no aim : but the arrow was accurately aimed, neverthe less. It was sighted by One that never misses His mark. So it is in every case. There are no chances to the Omniscient God. No chances in war any more than in peace. When men unchain the forces of war, they never know upon what events they are drifting : they know not what nations may be drawn into the conflict, nor what changes of boundaries or of governments may result from it. They only know that they have let loose a whirlwind which will not obey their wishes, and which knows no controlling will but that of God. The appeal to arms is felt to be an appeal to God. And we are taught by the text and kindred scriptures that it is not an unnoticed appeal. That which is thus given over into the Lord's hand, He takes into His hand : and man is thenceforth the compelled instrument for the accom plishment of the divine purposes. It is often said that very few men are found capable of wielding an army of a hundred thousand men. And if it is a rare thing to find men who are capable of managing to advantage a large army of their friends,, — how much less can they gather up into their own hands all the elements, military, economical, factional, na tional and hostile, that enter into the great questions that are ultimately to be settled. Thus it is plain from every point of view, that war is not an instru ment that nations can take up and lay down at will. It is the sword of the Lord : and He returns it not to His scabbard, till it has accomplished all the work which lie had for it to do. And in all the history of the world. He has had very much for it to do. In the text He is represented as pleading with it : — making it the voice with which His arguments and His appeals are uttered. Mankind plead, when they have wants to present, or neglected claims to urge. God is not a Being who can be supposed to have wants: still less can Hebe supposed to apply to His frail and dependent creatures as One in need. When He pleads, then, it is as One who has rights : and rights that he intends mankind shall respect : rights, it may be, in behalf of His creatures, — or, rights in behalf of Himself ; or rights, more probably, in be half of both. For where great wrong is done to man, it cannot often be true that there is a faithful render ing of duty to God. Indeed it is a part of the duty that we owe to God, to treat His creatures as He has commanded us in His law. And when this claim has been answered with long and aggravated neglect on the part of a nation, or as the case may be, of more nations than one, then comes the time for Him to plead His own cause ; — to plead, as He says in the text, " with fire and with His sword." And in this, all nations have their turn. " He pleads, thus, says the text, with all flesh." And He pleads as One that means to be heard. He pleads in the march of ar mies, and in the thunder of battle. He pleads in their victories and He pleads in their defeats. He pleads in the devastations of war. He pleads in cap tured cities, and wasted flelds, and smoking ruins. He pleads in the sufferings of wounded men : in the diseases that are ever doing their work in the ranks, and in the fearful record of the slain on the battle field. He pleads with the men in the army. He pleads with their friends at home. He pleads in the sense of exposure to danger and to death. He pleads in countless afflictions ; in sundered ties and broken hearts. He pleads in the common agony of suspense while the great public heritage is in danger, and in all, the anxieties that are felt for the unknown result. He pleads in the vastness of the calamity and in the wide and uncontrollable sweep of the evils which it carries in its bosom. And His plea is, " repent of your sins, and remember your God. Cut loose from the evils of the past ; do justice and love mercy, and render to all their due ; render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's." This is God's voice as He pleads in every war. And that His voice may not fail to be heard, He presses the argument home with great earnest ness, and in every quarter : upon the aggressor and the defender ; upon the atheist and upon the Chris tian ; upon "him that serveth God, and upon him that serveth Him not." The appeal comes to all ; for it is written in the text, " the slain of the Lord shall be many." It is almost as when the Lord passed through the land of Egypt to destroy all the first born in the land: it was said that there was "not a house in which there was not one dead." So it has been in many of the wars which history records. So it has been in some of the localities affected by the present war. But without referring to the records of districts that have been most deeply scourged, it is easy to show that the slain of the Lord are many, even in the stage of the war that we have already reached. It is no extravagant estimate that puts the losses on either side, since the war commenced, at a hun dred thousand men. It is as if every man, woman 8 and child in this city and in Boston were to be sud denly laid in their graves ; it is as if every family in this commonwealth were to be thrown into mourning by the loss of one of its inmates. It is only by con centrating and localizing the destruction, that we gain any adequate impression of its magnitude and its ex tent. And even then the vastness of it bewilders us, and we are less affected by it than by the grief and Bufferings of a single family, where one or more be longing to the loving circle are among " the slain of the Lord." Tell us of one that has fallen upon the field, tell us what he felt, and what he said as he was about bidding adieu to life, and then tell us what was said and what was felt in the sorrow-stricken circle at home, or rather depict to us those agonies of soul that were too deep for utterance — that demanded groans and sobs and tears — that were so intense that even tears were denied, and their very fountain, for the time, dried up, and we come nearer to compre hending the horrors of war, than when we are told of a battlefield on which thousands have been laid low in death, and thousands more lie bleeding with ghastly wounds. Let me briefly refer to a case which was narrated to me by one who witnessed it : It is one who has received his death-wound and sunk into unconsciousness, and whose life is fast ebbing away. A stranger approaches and inquires if something can not be done for him. The surgeon replies that possi bly he may be aroused for a moment with stimulants, but that in any case he cannot live an hour. The stranger knowing what a treasure a few last words are to distant friends, administers a stimulant and whispers to the dying man that he has roused him to inquire if he has any message that he wishes to have conveyed to his home. He replies with an unnatural energy, " But I must go home ; I must see my fam ily." "But that is impossible," says the stranger; " you can live but a little while ; tell me what to say to your friends, and I will write to them." " No,". he replies, " but I must go to them ; I have a wife and five little ones at home, and I must see them." And no words can draw from him a message to those loved ones ; but he lifts himself upon his hands and knees, expends his remaining strength in dragging himself a few feet from the spot, and dies exclaiming : " I must go home and see them." With such yearn ings for his earthly home which must nevertheless, be all denied, has the bleeding and agonized soldier laid himself down to die. Thus hav^3 thousands fallen, whose blood must be the second price of our her itage. A little more than a year ago, Avhile I was in New Haven, occupying the place of Dr. Dutton, with whom I exchanged, I was called upon by a venerable man who had been governor of the state of Connec ticut, and is now one of the most honored judges in the state, with that same sad errand for the sanctuary that has brought some of our number here in the habiliments of mourning to-day. His only son — educated and accomplished, and beginning in life with high hopes had fallen in the battle of Cedar Moun tain, and been buried on the field. With the feel ings of a bereaved father, he started for the battle field, met the long trains of supply wagons that were moving away from the spot, gazed upon the wreck and ruin of war, examined graves, but found not the body of his son, — searched through hospitals and conversed with wounded men who saw him fall,— 10 felt all the desolation that comes over the soul at such an hour, — looked upon fortifications and tents, and hosts of armed-men, heard of war and its fearful ravages, saw what it had done, and was preparing to • do, and saw the need of it, — and as the result of all that he heard and saw and felt, he said that " if he had been a young man he would have shouldered his musket and enlisted at once." I remarked that " that impulse could not have come from any romance connected with the scenes of war ; for he had seen some of its most stern and for bidding realities." " No," he replied, " there was no romance in it ; but it was from the feeling of the worthlessness of life; — the little importance of a sin gle individual upon the great stage, and the magni tude and cost of the terrible work we have in hand." The world seemed empty ; and life seemed desolate. Thousands of such chapters as these that have never been written, and will never be written or read on earth, are laid up in bleeding hearts. And thousands more it may be, are to come, " for the slain of the Lord are many." ' As a congregation, we have fewer losses to record, as yet, than most others. Only two of our number are known to us as having been cut off. Others hd,ve been disabled ; but this is a widely different thing from death. While there is life there is hope. And for one who has felt the power of disease, or been crippled or maimed, there may yet be an honorable and useful life. But those who are slain, are irrevo cably gone. Not this world, but another is hence forth their home. Till our turn comes to follow them into the invisible world, we shall see them and hear them no more. 11 The two who have been taken from us, with wide personal dissimilarities, had yet some things in com mon. Both had very decided military tastes and predelictions. Both had a strong sense of duty to their country, and freely gave themselves for her de fense. Both endured many hardships, and both were slain in battle, and buried far away from their friends. Both were in our Sabbath School, and studied with us there the Word of God. He who was first cut off, something less than a year ago, at Malvern Hills, was not yet mature ;— in fact, he was less than eighteen years of age when he enlisted, and less than nineteen, when he fell. But he was mature in Christian character, and stood manfully at his post as a soldier of the cross while he bore arms for his coun try. The temptations of the camp could not turn him away from his fidelity to Christ, and in the light of his steadfast and noble example, his comrades were continually taught the superior excellence of the Christian life. From the first day that he con templated enlisting, he steadily looked death in the face, and lived in daily preparation to meet his God. He was an honor to his friends, an honor to his country, and an honor to the Church of God ; and " he being dead, yet speaketh." I have never dis tinctly mentioned him from this pulpit before, partly from the consideration of his recent sojourn in my own family, partly because his friends lived at a dis tance, and partly because as a fallen patriot, from our own congregation, he was alone. But now that he has a companion in his soldier's grave, it seems fit that this brief mention should be made of him. He had an ambition to serve his country in a more con spicuous sphere, and intended to prepare himself for 12 such service, if his life was spared. But for the present he was content to meet the exposures and hardships of the common soldier, and to lay himself on the altar of his country as he was. His \^ork is done and his record is made. He has done for his country what he could. He had given her the bles sing of a pure heart, and a noble character before ; and when her service called for it, he sealed his de. votion with his blood. He never, even in thought, separated the service of his country from the service of his God. A musket was never more conscienti ously and religiously carried than by him. He felt that he went to the war at the call of his God, and that if he fell, it would be as a martyr in His service. The sacrifice has been claimed, and the victim was ready. Young Perkins went out, as you know, a lieuten ant in the Second Massachusetts Cavalry, In the providence of God, the entire charge of the company soon devolved upon him. His military tastes had made him famUiar with the art of fencing and the sabre exercises from his boyhood. He was also a good horseman. He had so well anticipated the de mands of the service, that the lack of experience was no disqualification. He was found at once to be a most competent and valuable oflicer. He had ac complishments of education, too, that Avere peculiar ly suited to the locality in which he was to be em ployed. He had acquired a knowledge of the Span ish language, and perfected himself in it during his residence in South America. To this he had added a very serviceable knowledge of the French, and was found to be well qualified to act, as he did, for a time, as translator of both languages for General Butler. 13 During his stay in the Plaquemine Parish, where the English language is scarcely spoken at all, he found his knowledge of French ana Spanish invaluable to him. The first part of his active service was in deal ing with guerrillas that infested the region about Ncav Orleans. This was a difficult and dangerous service ; as he had to do with a mean and skulking foe. In these conflicts he proved his courage and soldierly qualities, and won many commendations from his su perior officers. He acquired that experience, also, and skill in the prompt maneuvering required in cav alry battles, that gave him important advantages, in hi-s later conflicts with the organized forces of the Confederacy. I have not the means of giving a de tailed account of the different contests in which he bore a part, nor, even, of stating their number. It is evident, from the many allusions in his letters, that they were numerous : so numerous that he was point ed out in the streets of New Orleans, and generally known as the keenest and most daring officer in the Federal service ; and one that gave the Confederates the most trouble. A few facts may be in place here as showing what he was and what he endured. He was said, by those who had observed him, to be, to all appearance, a stranger to fear, and was repeatedly cautioned by officers and friends to set a higher value upon his own life. He speaks of himself as having been made " a special target for the sharpshooters " of the enemy, and was familiar with the sound of their bullets whistling around his head, Eeports were brought to him of the enemy's marksmen say ing they should give over flring at him ; as it was evident that he either wore iron armor beneath his clothing, or was invulnerable. He was told of one 14 Texan, who said he had fired five shots at him at a distance of only sixty yards, one of which had killed his horse. He has had six horses killed under him, in as many engagements, and, when sent out on recon noissances, has been repeatedly cut off from his return route by a superior force, and been obliged to bring off his command by stratagem. On one occasion he rode a hundred miles in twenty-four hours, and with out leaving his saddle : and for the last six weeks of his life he did not sleep in a tent at all ; but upon the ground under the open sky, in the wind and rain, — stung, as he says, " almost to madness," by the in sects that so abound there, and suffering from the fiery cutaneous eruptions that result from the mala ria and a burning sun. In addition to all this, he suffered from the dislocation of a shoulder, caused by his horse falling upon him, received a shot in his hand by which two bones were broken, and another in the knee ; — either of these injuries would have sent some officers to the hospital, or sent them home; but he rejected with spirit the idea of a furlough so long as the war should continue. He kept in his sad dle, notAvithstanding his wounds, though it required two men to mount and dismount him. The vigilance required of him, in the presence of an active and wily foe, was not the least of his hardships ; his responsibilityfor the safety of his command, — and still more the responsibility of the post of honor and of danger, — leading the advance, as he did, whenever the army moved, left him often, but little opportunity to sleep ; and the want of sleep, with his other endur ances, was beginning to tell upon him. On one occasion, he was left several days, with only 55 men to hold in check a force of 450 of the enemy, who 15 were separated from him by a narrow stream, with orders to fight them if they should attempt to cross. He managed to keep them suspicious that he was displaying only a part of his force to decoy them into a trap ; and so kept his position, until it was too late for them to attack him. He afterwards had an engagement with this same force, and with the same disparity of numbers (55 to 450,) and routed them so badly that the leader of the Confederate force was put under arrest by his superior officer for his failure. And in this engagement, not a man on our side was lost. On another occasion, he says in his brief and almost laconic account : " General Banks ordered me to reconnoitre a battery ; they gave me grape and canister, and shot my favorite pony." Afterward in a severe cavalry fight, he had the reins which he held cut off by a bullet, and a horse which he had captured from one of the enemy's captains killed under him. He saw one of his men wounded and taken prisoner ; he called for volunteers, — charged upon them, and recovered his wounded comrade, and four other men from other companies, whom the ene my had also wounded and captured. In this fight, the enemy were commanded by Generals Libbey and Moulton, and outnumbered him by more than 1200 men, A man who rode by his side, had his horse shot in twelve places " all like a flash," he says, " in one volley." When the army of General Banks moved upon Port Hudson, he was ordered there, and wrote his last letter from that place. The booming of the enemy's cannon, only 400 yards distant forbade his sleep, and he arose in the night aud continued his 16 letter amid the heavy shot and shells that were flying over him and around him, until an order came for him to support a battery ; he stated the fact, recorded his farewell, and there his pen rested forever. The same day that this letter was received, there came another, from another hand, saying that his earthly career was closed. He was ordered out under Col onel Grierson* to reconnoitre in the neighborhod of Clinton, 25 miles distant from Port Hudson, where it was understood the enemy were massing their forces. They left our lines about 7 o'clock on Wednesday morning. They stopped at Jackson, a small town, on their way, to rest the men and horses, about 10 A. M., having marched 12 miles. They then pushed on, the advance encountering the enemy's force at Clin ton about 2 P. M. In the course of fifteen minutes the action became general. Lieut. Perkins who was in command of two companies, his own and McGee's, was ordered to dismount his men and deploy as skir mishers, to cover the right flank of the section of artillery which had been ordered to the front. The fire became so galling, however, that he was ordered to fall back, the artillery having already retreated. It was found that the federal force was in great dan ger of being outfianked, as the enemy had two or three times their number. Our infantry, had but six rounds of cartridge when the fight began, and they could of course participate in the struggle but a short time ; and the remainder of the fighting, had * The reconnoitering foree consisted of Grierson's cavalry, 500 strong, Perkins' and McGees, in all, 100, Godfrey's aud Yeaton's, about 120 more, the 4:th Wisconsin and 41st Massachusetts infantry about 1000 strong, and one section of Nims' Battery, uader Lieutenant Hall. This was on Wednesday, June 3, 18G3. 17 to be done by the cavalry alone. They accordingly closed the retreat, and Perkins fought the rebels at every step. They reached a bridge over a ravine which the enemy were making every exertion to gain. While skirmishing in front of this, Perkins received a ball through his arm which disabled it. He did not however, stop fighting, but rode up to Colonel Grierson on a mule — his horse having been killed in the fight, — and said that he could hold that bridge till the infantry had got out of range. The Colonel replied, — "if you think you can, do it," Perkins rejoined his corps, — with one arm disabled and bleed ing, you will remember, and resumed the contest, exclaiming with the energy and impassioned tone of the battlefield, " Now boys, let us show these scoun drels that we can fight" A few minutes afterwards he received his mortal wound. When his orderly sergeant heard that he was wounded, he started for him, and was also mortally wounded. Perkins was soon placed in a carriage and conveyed off from the field. He survived about two hours, suffering little or no pain, and calmly passed away. Adjutant E. B. HaU, of the 1st Louisiana cavalry, an old friend of Perkins, obtained permission the next day for a small escort from the company of the deceased, to attend him, and conveyed the remains to Baton Kouge, where they were interred with the honor due to his rank in the officers' burying ground. Thus has fallen as brave, as earnest, and as dutiful a sol dier, and as faithful an officer, as the service can boast If all our officers, high and low, had fulfilled their part as well as he, this war would many months since have been brought to an end. We have evi- 18 dence in abundance that he was appreciated by those who were above him in the service, as an officer of rare merit ; and he would have received promotion, as he had been repeatedly promised, but for the fact that his place could not be adequately filled by any of his men ; and he could not for the time be spared for a different duty.* So much as this, has seemed to be due to the sol dierly qualities, the heroism, the faithful services and endurances of our young friend, whose face we shall see no more. Something remains to be said of him in another view. When he left us, he had made no demonstrations of a religious character. He attend ed church on the Sabbath, and was in the Sabbath School. But he was not known to be in the habit of prayer, or to cherish the hope that he was a child of God. What then, was the effect of his exposures and of his active military life 1 Did they make him less careful of his morals, and less thoughtful of his God 1 We have his own testimony that this was the effect with too many whom he knew. They grew rougher, more profane, and more ungodly. With him it was different. He felt that the army and the field of battle were no place for thoughtlessness of God and eternity. Before he left us, I once saw the unbidden tear start to his eye as he sat in his Sabbath School class and listened to some words that were * A correspondent of the Boston Traveler, over the Initials H. M. P., in a letter that covers a considerable range of events, including a notice of the above, says : " Captain Pekkins has won for his company a name in this department. He was the most dasliing, brilliant, successful caval ry captain I ever knew, and is much to be lamented." Another corres pondent in the Jo.urnal, speaks of him in language equally commendatory and emphatic. 10 spoken in the Sabbath School, of the importance that every soldier should become at once a good sol dier of Christ. He enlisted as a matter of duty. This, was the plea that won the consent of his friends. He enlisted AVith his eyes open to the perils of a soldier's life. He saw and felt more of this, as he advanced. He soon discovered whither his own earnest nature was carrying him. That which was dangerous for any one, was to be doubly dangerous for him. To be a marked man : to be the special mark for a thousand bullets, — though he seemed fearless, — he felt that there was a warning, and there was danger in this. He was sometimes heard to say : " I shall not always escape these bullets." He be came more and more thoughtful. In the free out pouring of his heart in his last letter, he says " that few of the scores of officers who knew him, — and thought of him as caring little for his own life, knew that he always, before going into a dangerous place, or a perilous duty was accustomed to ask God for pardon and for aid, and to pray for his friends at home." This prayer, he says, " was often offered in the saddle, but it was none the less heart-felt and sincere." This he repeats in substance, iu other forms. He tells us also that he attempted to correct the profanity of his men ; and he expresses his regret that he had done so little " to turn them to ask God for his mercy." He speaks of growing faith in God, and growing self-control, — and traces it to the example and faith of his beloved parents and christian friends at home. That he has left us such a record, we should be profoundly grateful to Almighty God. The active career of our young friend was a short 20 one. But even from the scanty materials we have, and in the absence of official reports, we are at no loss to make out that he accomplished more than some officers would have done in a long life : — more, perhaps, than if he had remained in civil life, and lived to an old age. He has done enough for any one man to do. His acts are the property of the nation and of history. The story of the struggles in the neighborhood of New Orleans cannot be faith fully given without some mention of him. His his tory illustrates to us the great truth that a man may live much, — may crowd the usefulness of a long life into a short compass of time. So it is in war ; so it may be in peace. It is only by self-sacrifice, and earnest work, that a person can make his mark in the history of his times, and become the benefactor of the world. And for this he needs the favoring prov idence and grace of Almighty God. He needs to be a man of earnest faith and prayer. The man who has proved most useful to the army of the foe, and most damaging to our own, would never have accomplish ed what he did, but for his strong religious convic tions, and his prayers. Though he fought, with a misguided conscience, and on the wrong side, I be lieve there is no one who doubts that, it was because he was earnest and devout and sincere, that there was such might in his arm, and such terror in his name. Our young friend seems to have been growing to be like him ; with this difference, that he was fighting for his country and not against her: — for freedom, and not for slavery; for the progress of humanity and of the world. For courage and vigilance and adroitness, and dashing energy and executive force. 21 and enduratice^ his brief story is seldom equaled. We give him a star in our roll of honor, not merely as marking a vacancy there, but as a radiant point of Ught to stimulate to earnest purpose, and noble deeds in the fear of God. We have been wont in othei' days, to point for examples of patriotism, and self- sacrifice, and heroic achievement and endurance, to the times of our fathers. We can point, now, without blushing, to the record of the sons. God has given us, of this congregation, two mar tyrs in this new heroic age, that would have been an honor to any age. Let us cherish their memories and catch the deep fervors of their patriotic zeal, and remember that it was from the living well-spring of Christian institutions, and Christian families that they drew the inspiration that made them what they were. Let us drop a generous tear over their ashes, and em balm their memories in our hearts, and gird up the loins of our minds and bear our part in the earnest work of life. There are other young men in this congregation, and in all our congregations, that, I doubt not, would cover themselves with equal honor, if called by their country to the bloody field. I need not say that we have those among the living who have already proved it But you, my young friends, are not called — ^not yet — to the deadly shock and the clash of arms. There, it may be, the very force of circumstances would keep you awake, and make he roes of you. But you are called to serve God and your country, where there are a thousand temptations to be selfish, and live at your ease, and forget the soul, and your Creator, and the judgment to come. It may be that yours, after all, if it be well done^ is 22 the more difficult part To fight the good fight of faith, where there is so much to invite to the pleasure of the moment, and the absorbing pursuit of worldly gain — to get above the prevailing moral tone, and live in the light of God, and in the fellowship of the Divine Spirit, and push on the conquests of the cross — to make this the warp of life, it may be that it re quires more than is needful to make a hero on the martial field. And yet it is to this that we call you ; it is to this that your country calls you ; and the spirit of the age in which you live, and the teeming, glorious future which is already opening upon the world. Be nohle here — ^be heroic when pleasure and mam mon plead — take up the cross when others shun it — face the subtle unbeliefs of the age as you would face the enemies of your country and of your dearest rights — be true to your God : — and He has a roll of honor, where your name shall stand, higher than any historic monument or record of earth, brighter than the stars, and more enduring than time and the world.