At once the Union
soldiers understood what the soldier in gray was doing for their own
wounded comrades, and not a shot was fired. For an hour and a half he
continued his work, giving drink to the thirsty, straightening cramped
and mangled limbs, pillowing men's heads on their knapsacks, and
spreading blankets and army coats over them, tenderly as a mother would
cover her child; and all the while, until this angel-ministry was
finished, the fusillade of death was hushed.
Again we must admire the heroism that led this brave soldier in gray so
utterly to forget himself for the sake of doing a deed of mercy to his
enemies. There is more grandeur in five minutes of such
self-renunciation than in a whole lifetime of self-interest and
self-seeking. There is something Christly in it. How poor, paltry,
and mean, alongside the records of such deeds, appear men's selfish
strivings, self-interests' boldest venturing!
We must get the same spirit in us if we would become in any large and
true sense a blessing to the world. We must die to live. We must lose
our life to save it. We must lay self on the altar to be consumed in
the fire of love, in order to glorify God and do good to men. Our work
may be fair, even though mingled with self; but it is only when self is
sacrificed, burned on the altar of consecration, consumed in the hot
flames of love, that our work becomes really our best, a fit offering
to be made to our King.
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