I Don't Know How Long It Has

My Business Is Stanching Blood And Feeding Fainting Men; My Post The Open Field Between The Bullet And The Hospital. I Sometimes Discuss The Application Of A Compress Or A Wisp Of Hay Under A Broken Limb, But Not The Bearing And Merits Of A Political Movement. I Make Gruel--not Speeches; I Write Letters Home For Wounded Soldiers, Not Political Addresses.

I Was Only One Woman Alone, And Had No Power To Move To Action Full-fed, Sleek- Coated, Ease-loving, Pleasure-seeking, Well-paid,and Well-placed Countrymen In This War- Trampled, Dead, Old Land, Each One Afraid That He Should Be Called Upon To Do Something.

You Must Never So Much Think As Whether You Like It Or Not, Whether It Is Bearable Or Not; You Must Never Think Of Anything Except The Need, And How To Meet It.

If I Were To Speak Of War, It Would Not Be To Show You The Glories Of Conquering Armies But The Mischief And Misery They Strew In Their Tracks; And How, While They Marched On With Tread Of Iron And Plumes Proudly Tossing In The Breeze, Some One Must Follow Closely In Their Steps, Crouching To The Earth, Toiling In The Rain And Darkness, Shelterless Themselves, With No Thought Of Pride Or Glory, Fame Or Praise, Or Reward; Hearts Breaking With Pity, Faces Bathed In Tears And Hands In Blood. This Is The Side Which History Never Shows.

If Woman Alone Had Suffered Under These Mistaken Traditions [of Women's Subordination], If She Could Have Borne The Evil By Herself, It Would Have Been Less Pitiful, But Her Brother Man, In The Laws He Created And Ignorantly Worshipped, Has Suffered With Her. He Has Lost Her Highest Help; He Has Crippled The Intelligence He Needed; He Has Belittled The Very Source Of His Own Being And Dwarfed The Image Of His Maker.