This glorious vision of the nobility of human nature sustained the chaplain through many discouragements and difficulties.

I have often sat on my horse on rainy nights near Hill 63, and watched the battalions going up to the line.

With wet rubber sheets hanging over their huge packs and with rifles on their shoulders, the men marched up through the mud and cold and darkness, to face wounds and death.

At such times, the sordid life has been transfigured before me.

The hill was no longer Hill 63, but it was the hill of Calvary.