WOUNDED

Up the quiet street in the early Sunday morning, came with slow steps and silently, two wounded soldiers: One with shattered arm and a cruel sabre-cut on his forehead; One with amputated leg, hobbled slowly along on crutches. In the thunder-storm and sharp crash of terrible battle, 'mid blood, carnage, and death, Comrades in arms, they fell side by side; one of them senseless, the other feeling his life-blood flowing away... Faintness came over him, breathing the sulphurous smoke, with the tornado of battle stunning his brain— Faintness—forgetfulness. A vision of childhood, of the sweet Heaven-time of life, came to him... He hoped it was death, coming as no king of terrors, but as a beautiful flower-crowned child, Bidding a hero welcome to the great halls of the laurel-wreathed dead—those who died for their country. From this dream of the Future came sharp awaking to life; rattling away in the ambulance... Crashing pains shooting wildly from leg to brains—the heart now and then grasped with steel fingers and squeezed... The knife and the tourniquet, the rapid surgical operation: the poor, pale fellow maimed for life. At home in a hospital kindly nursed and tended, hearing for the first time in life the name of God—not taken in vain: seeing the good deeds of true woman... Knowing that should he die he would ask no gentler sounds to cheer him on his road to the Hereafter, than the prayer he once heard read by The Lady in Gray to a dying soldier in the same hospital:... thus passed he back again to life. Now convalescent he walks in the fresh morning up the quiet street, under the leafy shadow of lindens... he and his comrade in battle. In the faces of both you may see that they know how earnest is life... The Angel of Death on the battle-field raised the veil of the Future: transient the glimpse, but they will never forget it... The Angel of Mercy here in the hospital bound up their wounds, cheering their hearts with kind looks and well-spoken words of true sympathy... Solemnly earnest and beautiful is Life to these two wounded soldiers. The lame one is weary, and halts by the steps of a handsome house; his comrade with one arm helps him sit down there, on the lowest step, leaning against the white marble balustrade. Through lace and silk curtains, from drawing-room window, looks down the street a beautiful woman, waiting impatiently carriage, coachman, and footman, to carry her grandly to church. Up comes the carriage; wide open the doors of the house: Madame descends... How is this?... She stops by the two wounded soldiers. I have two sons in the army, she thought; what if they were weary and wounded like these? Then she speaks to the comrades in battle, and learning where they were going, insisted on their taking her carriage. She will have no refusal: and now John the footman, inwardly groaning, assists the lame man to enter, then the other one takes a seat... Off they whirl to their hospital-home, with a blessing upon the fair lady who dared follow the teachings of One whom that morning she worshiped with words ... and with deeds. Open your hands—and your hearts—ye who stand afar off from the battle! Lo! the wounded and dying are here at your doors. Slumber no more; but awake, awake to their cries!

Transcriber's Note: Because of the length of the lines, the above piece has been formatted as in the original.