"'Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain;
Who patient bears his cross below,—
He follows in His train.'"
But I kept on,—really, I felt as if I couldn't stop,—and when I got to the last line of "For all the saints who from their labours rest," Fee whispered, "Sing those verses again, Jack."
I knew which he meant; so I sang:—
"'Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, the one true Light.
Alleluia!
"O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win, with them, the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia!
"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song,
And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia!'"
Fee lay quiet when I finished. He was still twitching, and tears were slipping down his cheeks from under his closed lids; but he no longer made that dreadful gasping sound, and there was a beautiful expression on his mouth,—so sweet and patient. "I've not been a soldier 'faithful, true, and bold,'" he said sadly, "but a miserable coward. Ah! how we must weary God with our grumblings and complainings, our broken resolutions and weaknesses. I prayed with all my heart and strength for Phil, that he might be saved from that crowd. And now that God has granted my prayer, I bewail His way of doing it. I was willing then to say, 'At any cost to myself,' and here I am shrinking from the share He has given me! dreading the pain and loneliness. A faithless soldier, Jack,—not worthy to be called a soldier."
"Oh! not faithless," I put in eagerly; "indeed, Fee, you're not faithless. Even if you do shrink from this—this trouble—it's only just here between us; you are going to be brave over it,—you know you are. Going to be! why, Fee, I think you are the bravest boy! the truest, noblest—" I had to stop; that lump was just swelling up in my throat.
"No," Fee said mournfully, drawing his breath in as Kathie does hers sometimes when she's been crying for a long while; "no, Jack, I'm not really brave,—not yet! I'm going to bear this only because I must—because I can't escape it. Perhaps, by and by, strength may come to endure the trial more patiently; but now—I dread it. I would fly from it if I could; I would die rather than face those awful years of helplessness! See what a poor creature your 'brave boy' is, Jack." His lips were quivering, and he folded one arm over his eyes.