And faces woe unafraid,
And binds up the wounds made by the wars of men.
She fights to defeat pain,
And to conquer torture,
And to cheat death of his untimely prey.
And her combat is for neither glory nor gain, but, with charity and mercy and compassion as her weapons, she storms incessantly the ramparts of grief.
There thrills through her life never the sharp, sudden thunder of the charge, never the swift and ardent rush of the short, decisive conflict—the tumult of applauding nations does not reach her ears—and the courage that holds her heart high comes from the voice of her invincible soul.
She fulfills the dramatic destiny of woman because, reared to await the homage of man and to receive his service, she becomes when the war trumps sound, the servitor of the world.
And because whenever men have gone into battle, women have borne the real burden of the fray,
And because since the beginning of time, man when he is hurt or maimed turns to her and finds, in her tenderness, the consolation and comfort which she alone can give.