He gave out at the close his favourite hymn, “Lead, Kindly Light.” It was well and sweetly sung by the girl-choir. As the music closed he rose—a figure of command, his spare frame looking larger for his robes. For a silent moment his eloquent eyes wandered over the crowd, gathering the attentive gaze of young and old, then he said: “I want to talk on this unusual occasion for a little while, to you who are answering the call of a man who is like a father calling his sons to a task of danger. My text is: ’Render, therefore, unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God’s.’ The wonder of the great texts is that they have many applications as time runs on. You know the familiar story. Payment of the tax meant obedience to the Government, to law, to order. I would that I had the power to make you see with me the scene. It is to me so very distinct. The Pharisees desire to tempt him, a Jew, into a statement treasonable to the Roman rule they had accepted. Was it right for the Jew to pay the tax which sustained this Government? He had, as you may remember, already paid it for Peter and himself. He asks for the penny bearing Caesar’s head and answers them in the words of the text, ‘Render unto Caesar, therefore, the things which are Caesar’s.’ He returns the penny. I wonder where that little coin is to-day? It has gone, but the lesson it read remains forever; nor even today is the Pharisee gone with his invidious temptations. You are to-day obeying a greater than Caesar. You are meeting the material obligations of a day of discouragement—and for some a day of doubt.
“The nobler applications which lie within the meaning of the latter part of the text He answers more fully than was asked: ’Render unto God the things which are God’s.’ What are these things which are at need to be rendered to Him? What larger tax? Ease—comfort—home—the strong bodies which make work safe and pleasant. He asks of you the exercise of unusual qualities—the courage which looks death in the face and will not take the bribe of safety, of life, at the cost of dishonour. Ah! not in battle is my fear for you. In the long idleness of camps will come your hours of temptation. Think then of those at home who believe in you. It is a great thing to have an outside conscience—wife, mother, sister. Those are hours when it is hard to render unto God what he gave.
“We are now, as I said, at a time of discouragement. There are cowards who would yield—who would compromise—men who want peace at any cost. You answer them nobly. Here, in this sacred cause, if He asks it, we render life or the easy competencies of youth in its day of vigour.”