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
