There was a big room there—we called it a quiet room—and so I asked all the boys who would like to see me, just to leave their seats and go into this room. I went to them and said,
“You have elected to come here to pray, so we will just kneel down at once. I am not going to do anything more than guide you. I want you to tell God what you feel you need in your own language.”
The prayers of those boys would have made a book. There were no old-fashioned phrases. You know what I mean—people begin at a certain place and there is no stopping them till they get to another certain place. One of these boys began, “Please God, You know I’ve been a rotter.” That’s the way to pray. That boy was talking to God and the Lord was very glad to listen.
I was talking to one boy—an American; he was a little premature, he was in the fight before his country.
“Sonny,” I said, “you’re an American?”
“Yes, sir. I was born in Michigan.”
“Well, what are you doing, fighting under the British flag?”
“I guess it’s my fight too, sir. This,” he said, “is not a fight for England, France, or Belgium, but a fight for the race, and I wouldn’t have been a man if I had kept out.”
I told that story to one of our Generals who died last September.