When we think of the suffering of Belgium today, devastated and exiled, we can understand the full meaning of such poems as Psalms Seventy-nine and Eighty. They are probably later than Psalm One Hundred and Thirty-seven. They are more calm than the outburst of suffering and revenge contained in the latter, but there is profound pathos in their beautiful and tender lines.

"Thou didst pluck up a vine out of Egypt;

Thou didst drive out the nations, and didst plant it. Thou didst clear a place before it,

And it took deep root, and filled the land.

The mountains were covered with the shadow of it,
And the mighty cedars with the boughs thereof.
She sent out her branches unto the sea,

And her shoots unto the River.

Why hast Thou broken down her fences,

So that all they that pass by the way do pluck her?
The boar out of the wood doth ravage it,

That which moveth in the field feedeth on it.

O God of hosts, return, we beseech Thee;

Look from heaven, and behold, and be mindful of this vine,

And of the stock which Thy right hand hath planted,
And the branch that Thou madest strong for Thyself.
It is burned with fire, it is cut down;

They perish at the rebuke of Thy countenance.
Let Thy hand be upon the man of Thy right hand,
Upon the son of man whom Thou madest strong for
Thyself.

So shall we not turn back from Thee;

Quicken Thou us, and we will call upon Thy name.
O Lord God of hosts, restore us;

Cause Thy face to shine, and we shall be saved."

Among the finest poetic products of the War are the personal poems, particularly those lamenting the fall of young heroes. Such songs as "The Spires of Oxford," celebrating the joyous courage and selfsacrifice of to-day's youth, and "I Have a Rendezvous with Death," and Robert Nichols's elegies on his fallen friends, are counted among the fairest flowers of modern poetry. This is true of the Bible, too. No war poem approaches in beauty the lament of David for Saul and Jonathan - one of Israel's greatest heroes weeping for two other heroes who fell in battle, self-slain for the honor of their people.

"Thy beauty, O Israel, upon thy high places is slain! How are the mighty fallen!

Tell it not in Gath,

Publish it not in the streets of Ashkelon;

Lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice,

Lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph.

Ye mountains of Gilboa,

Let there be no dew nor rain upon you,

Neither fields of choice fruits;

For there the shield of the mighty was vilely cast away,

The shield of Saul, not anointed with oil.

From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty,

The bow of Jonathan turned not back,

And the sword of Saul returned not empty.

Saul and Jonathan, the lovely and the pleasant

In their lives, even in their death they were not di

vided;

They were swifter than eagles,

They were stronger than lions.

Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul,

Who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights,
Who put ornaments of gold upon your apparel.
How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle!

"Jonathan upon thy high places is slain!

I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan;
Very pleasant hast thou been unto me;
Wonderful was thy love to me,

Passing the love of women.
How are the mighty fallen,

And the weapons of war perished!"

WAR PRAYERS IN THE BIBLE

THE War has stimulated interest in prayer. Many people who never prayed before have now taken to praying. Churches have fixed special days of prayer and intercession. In so far as prayer is an evidence of Religion, one might well say that the War has brought about a revival of Religion. It certainly has revived the habit of prayer in many

quarters.

But it has, also, stirred up a great deal of discussion as to the nature and value of prayer. On the one hand, people are asking again the old question as to the efficacy of prayer. Does praying do any good? Does it pay to pray? Are prayers answered? At a time such as this, these questions cease to be mere academic speculations. The average person is vitally interested in them. The things we pray for now are of immediate and vital importance. Praying is no mere part of a decorous, well-ordered service, no mere item of liturgy. Our prayers for the safety of our men, for the triumph of our arms, for an honorable peace, come from the heart, they are part of our inmost being. Therefore, it is natural that we should want to know whether such an occupation has any real use, and

whether it leads to anything. On the other hand, many good people are scandalized by the strange sight of both sides praying to the same God. It is absurd in their eyes that the foe, also, should pray to God. It suggests to them the shallowness, the futility, or the queerness of all prayer.

In considering these questions, we must realize, first of all, that prayer is a normal and necessary part of all Religion. Wherever there is Religion, there will be prayer, and namely, prayer of an expressed, spoken, fervent kind, rather than the vague, inaudible sort which is fashionable among those to whom Religion is an aspect of Sociology and who say they can pray while motoring in the country, or engaged in other similar forms of esthetic religiosity. Religion, it has often been observed, is not merely a belief in God; it is belief in the relation of God and man. Prayer is a means of forming and maintaining that relationship. It is the bond of union between God and man. Thus, if we believe in God, if we believe in Religion, the natural result will be a desire for prayer, and the persistence of prayer under all circumstances, however difficult and baffling.

Of course, it is natural for us to want an answer to our prayers. Expectation of Divine favor is one of the foundations of prayer. It is foolish to call this merely a primitive conception of prayer. Anthropologists may prove that primitive men first prayed because they wanted something. An equally