They killed—were killed——
The agonizing sorrow of Gethsemane again swept over Christ, as He stood by the Lake
and wondered if men would ever be worthy of the gift of life—
if they would ever make it beautiful—and not terrible—
They were endowed with a certain freedom—
they used it to make wars—
to think of barbarous machines that would kill and torture—
The fiendish cries of battle were in the great valley below—
Cannons roared
and flashed a red glare into the sky—
Tears filled His eyes as He thought of the unprepared souls which were being hurled into Eternity—
on both sides of the battle line—
The broken homes—
His heart was breaking in sorrow for the people He loved so well—
Moon streaks were playing on the water—
The cold night air blew through the trees.