forced them to complain. Girls have been called to bear
bereavement that ordinarily only comes to the mature or middleaged.
 Their lovers have been added to the Roll of Honour one
by one in a pitiful succession, and they have come to know that
even if they would they could never marry, yet they have rallied,
borne up, and gone on, and we older people marvel at them.
The families have been worthy of the homes.
Among the working classes, of whose homes we know too
little, the same heroism exists, and our respect—mutual it is to
be hoped—grows in the common sorrow. To some of them in
the large cities, in a life of constant stress, the war is but one
sorrow more they tell us, and never must we allow ourselves to
think that because they may have more money to spend at the
moment it is any more compensation to them than it would be
to us—our hearts are made of the same stuff.
The future is ours to recreate and reoccupy our homes for
God. There is not a question about them that we must shirk, not
a doubt in our hearts that we must fear to examine, not a practice
or indulgence that we must be willing to cover. The Spirit of
Truth is with us and He will show what must be done to
make them places where He can dwell alike with husband and
wife, parents and children, master and servant, host and guest,
in undisputed authority and clearest light.