In Brooklyn one day I met a young man passing
down the streets. At the time the war broke out the young man
was engaged to be married to a young lady in New England, but
the marriage was postponed.
He was very fortunate
in battle after battle, until the Battle of the Wilderness
took place, just before the war was over.
The young lady was
counting the days at the end of which he would return. She
waited for letters, but no letters came. At last she received
one addressed in a strange handwriting, and it read something
like this:
There has been another terrible battle. I have
been unfortunate this time; I have lost both my arms. I cannot
write myself, but a comrade is writing this letter for me. I
write to tell you you are as dear to me as ever; but I shall
now be dependent upon other people for the rest of my days,
and I have this letter written to release you from your
engagement.
This letter was
never answered. By the next train she went clear down to the
scene of the late conflict, and sent word to the captain what
her errand was, and got the number of the soldier's cot. She
went along the line, and the moment her eyes fell upon that
number she went to that cot and threw her arms round that
young man's neck and kissed him. "I will never give you up,"
she said. "These hands will never give you up; I am able to
support you; I will take care of you." My friends, you are not
able to take care of yourselves. The law says you are ruined,
but Christ says, "I will take care of
you."
~ D. L.
Moody
