“Stand up! stand up for Jesus!
Ye soldiers of the cross;
Lift high His royal banner,
It must not suffer loss.”
I lay still, and something poured into my heart that was a peace made from the glory of the storm, the moan of the woman, and the song of a dawn-bird. Out of the darkness my soul came like—I think I partly expressed it in the first sentence of this confession, if you will turn back and see, Evelyn dear.
After the men had sung the wonderful old hymn through to its very last lines,
“To him that overcometh
A crown of life shall be;
He with the King of Glory
Shall reign eternally,”