Explore "Mothers of Men" by William Henry Warner on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In ghastly numbers, the wounded began pouring into Paris, a sad and terrible procession. About the railroad stations, crowds were gathered. Mothers, sisters, wives, sweethearts were anxiously scanning each pitiful burden as it was lifted into the waiting ambulances, their hearts torn with the fear that this might be the one they sought. Strong men shook with anguish at the terrible spectacle. These shattered wrecks, who had gone forth in the pride of their youth and strength, fought, suffered, died, so that Liberty might live, their wounds mutely supplicating those who were to take their places not to let their sacrifice be in vain.
As the stretchers were tenderly borne past the waiting people, flowers were flung on the gray blankets, there were cheers and suppressed sobs. But mingling with their tears was a feeling of exultant pride that these man had saved their beloved country from the humiliation of defeat, had kept hope still alive for final victory.