Mr. Becker had huge crowd in lower church this afternoon while I had young people. May God's Word not return to Him void!
And now for a good old pipe, and a few good long thoughts of home, dear ones, and friends.
(This almost long enough for sermon, and needs only the Amen!)
Thursday, October 24.—Long break, four days gone by; but one day is like the other except that on alternative days I take the funerals; for the rest, each day is like preceding morning, noon, and afternoon—sick! sick! sick!
O for a change in my work! The continual cry is "Minheer, kom tog hier" (Sir, please come here), "Minheer, gaat tog daar" (Sir, please go there), and one grows so weary of scenes of suffering and sorrow; always red and tear-stained eyes; always Love, helpless, hopeless, impotent, despairing; always face to face with Decay, Change, Death; always the same close, stifling, little tent.
Such a life here as "leeraart" (chaplain) full of dull, oppressive, burdensome, wearying, saddening hours. O the monotony, the horrible monotony of my work. How welcome the hour of sunset! How blissful to lay me down to sleep! Thank God for his unspeakable gift of sleep—that period of forgetfulness, of rest, of void.
And yet let me confess, can there be any work grander, more glorious, than just this work of mine? How one can revel in it! The unspeakable bliss of being able to ease the burdens of one's fellow-men—the supreme honour of being able to be a blessing. Surely the purest pleasure here on earth—to bear one another's burdens.
To-day a grievous, burdensome day—full of worry and trouble.
Found that my tent had been unceremoniously pulled down and removed during my morning visit in camp.