It is not our object to belittle any natural scenery, but to
make Americans pause to consider the incomparable beauty of
their own land, before rushing to other countries.
We shall never forget our trip up the Moselle and Rhine. That
the scenery is very beautiful we shall not deny. It was in the
lovely month of May in the spring of 1919 that we were favored
with a free ride from Uncle Sam through the most beautiful
scenery to be found anywhere in Germany. We cast a farewell look
at the beautiful meadows of the Meuse and the old Roman towers
of Verdun and a nameless longing, a vague inexpressible sadness
seemed to take possession of us as our eyes rested for the last
time on the gray weather-stained buildings of Glorieux hospital.
In the clear sky a crystal shower of lark notes rippled above
us; from the fragrant box hedges nightingales sang their love
songs; the air was filled with the riotous notes of the linnet
and the loud, sweet phrases of the blackbirds, but we heard them
not. For our thoughts wandered back to that spot where many of
the buddies whom we had learned to love lay sleeping their long
sleep. Near the hospital where thousands of French soldiers had
at last found a glad relief from their pain and suffering,
straight rows of white crosses met our sight and we knew the
grim reaper Death had garnered his choicest sheaves.
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