The Bird of Christmas

On our cover this month there is a picture of a robin on a soldier’s bayonet. The bird of home has come to the trenches to cheer the soldiers there with its presence and its song. The glad, eager eyes of the soldier are fixed upon it, and a private writing from the trenches during the winter campaign says, “A plucky little robin used to come into the trench, much to the soldiers’ joy. Sat on the end of my bayonet like a Christmas card, he did,” wrote the Tommy to his family. It was God’s little messenger to cheer and comfort, to speak of the gardens and hedgerows of dear old “Blighty,” of the snow on the fields around the village home, and the bells sounding out their message over the landscape. It brought to remembrance, too, the faces of the loved ones in the homeland: the dear parents and wives and sisters and sweethearts praying for their “boys” this Christmas-time, and saying, “We will keep the holly until they return. God grant it.” It spoke of the warm fires burning, and the family gathered round; “letters from the Front” brought out and read and re-read, and the photos in khaki passed from hand to hand and talked about and loved. Sweet bird of God, the most friendly of all birds, thy song of home was sweet indeed, and thy red breast warm with all the pleasant thoughts of happy times and happy days.
What messengers from God can we send to the trenches? What sweet songs can we bring to these dear men we love so well? I want to send one thousand parcels this Christmas to the Front and elsewhere: parcels containing books that speak of God and Christ. Each parcel costs five shillings, and I am sure my friends will give me that privilege and joy. And I want one hundred thousand Testaments as my Christmas present this year.