The sun had gone out of their heaven.

There was no light in the world.

Having known Death as a familiar foe, and having fought against its terrors; having only by the grace of God been able to lift up a man's voice in my hour of awful bereavement, and cry, "O Death, where is thy sting, O Grave, thy Victory ?" I could suffer with them and fear for their reason.

They lived in a state of coma, unaware of life, performing, like automata, their daily tasks.
Then, in the early days of August, came the Trumpet of War, and they awakened.

In my life have I seen nothing so marvellous.