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Red Cross

         Ever faithful, ever present, wherever Americans troops are found, the Red Cross blazons forth as a symbol of cheer, as a sign of ready succor.  It is the emblem of brotherly love; unselfish, without vanity and with malice toward none.  It has no creed except that of Christianity.  It is an inspiration to men, both able and disabled.  It makes death easier and life happier.  It scorns danger and contagion.  It works equally well behind the line and on the battle field.

         The feminine touch, deftly applied, in the hospitals, wrought more good than the surgeon’s knife.  The tributes of the wounded, the dying and the convalescent, coming from the soul, testify to the magnificence of the Red Cross.

         After the tumult and the shouting of the battle dies the soldiers are given a little rest, but the Red Cross work continues.  It even becomes more strenuous than ever.  The sights they witness, the help they give, the words of cheer they speak and the bandages they apply are numberless.  They render medical and surgical assistance and carry the wounded to their hospitals where sisterly care is administered.

        At home or on foreign soil, in cities or in villages, on the march, or on the train, in the hotels or in shacks and pup tents, in rest periods or in battle they were with us.  Coming or going they met us more than half way.
               

Posted on Wednesday, January 17, 2007 at 06:22AM by Registered Commenter[Your Name Here] | CommentsPost a Comment

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