and I have heard them sing,
“Cover my defenceless head,”
with the shells falling close to them. I have heard them sing,
“I fear no foe ...”
with every seat and every bit of building round us rocking with the concussion of things. And then they will choose:
“The King of Love my Shepherd is,”
“The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want,”
“Abide with me,”
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
and the one they love, I think, most of all is,
“When I survey the wondrous Cross.”
Those are the hymns they sing, the great hymns of the Church—the hymns that all Christian people sing, about which there is no quarrelling. It’s beautiful to hear the boys.
That night I said, “I have brought some hymn-sheets. I thought we might have some singing, but I’m afraid it’s too dark.”