I saw them... three children, the eldest ten, the youngest seven, running after the newspaper vendor; then each takes from his pockets five mils, together equaling the price of the paper, and the eldest of them takes it, and then they walk on: the big one in the middle and the two little ones at his sides. He reads and they listen... I drew near to see what they were reading, and behold, it was news of the struggle.

And I saw them... schoolgirls leaving their desks by the hundreds to demonstrate in protest against the tearing apart of Palestine; and they march in good order: the little ones, born in the war, who had never demonstrated before nor sung anthems; and the older ones, who remember demonstrations like these from their childhood. All of them marching behind the fluttering flags. All of them singing: "March with us to glory."

And I saw them... young women hurrying by the tens to enroll in the ranks of first aid. The older ones between eighteen and twenty, the younger between fourteen and sixteen. I said to them: Can you bear the sight of blood and the binding of wounds? They all said: Yes, we can, and we must be able. I said to myself, how easy is speech without deed. Then the bombs went off and the whine of bullets rang out, and what should amaze me but the sight of them: one of them hurries to the first-aid emblem on which the cross and the crescent are drawn embracing, ties the badge upon her arm, then runs through the streets pressed against the walls of the houses to avoid the stray bullets. She runs to where the sacred duty calls her.

And I saw them... ladies of noble family coming out of their seclusion and gathering. Speeches are delivered, anthems are sung, then they march in ranks to the houses of God: the mosques, then the churches. There they stand, humble and crying aloud: "O God, if we have fallen short in our duty to the homeland, wipe away the offense of the past by the atonement of the present. O God, here we stand before a new era; make us ready to enter the battle with valor. Either liberty or death."

And I saw them, young men of twenty or under, thronging in the clubs and associations, shouting: "We want to volunteer for the defense." And if they are told, Patience, until the appointed committee is formed, they go away only to return on the morrow singing the anthem of sacrifice: "We want to volunteer..." I looked at those young faces that had never before known stab or blow: this one his mother's only son, that one the provider of his family... They have put aside every duty but the duty of sacrifice — the ransom of beloved Palestine.

And I saw them... young men — one of them is carried to the hospital that his mortal wounds may be dressed, and he starts up in his bed, fighting off death, and cries: "I do not want to die here; take me to my comrades, to die there" — then closes his eyes for the last time.

And I saw them today as I saw them yesterday: women carrying food on their heads to the mountains under the whine of bullets. Wives — the husband comes back to the village covered with wounds, and she looks at him with contempt and pride, saying: "Why did you come back??"

Mothers — one of them sees the body of her son swimming in blood, and she stands at his head, ululating for the martyr...

Old women — one of them had gathered piaster upon piaster to perform with the sum the sacred duty of the pilgrimage, the wish of her life. But today she carries the money to the fighters, saying: "Take it for the struggle, and it is as if I had performed the pilgrimage..."

I saw her — a nation rising as one man, and singing: O Palestine, here we are.

Ah, O nation that has mocked at death and found the struggle sweet... O nation that never once con-sented to humiliation, that the multitude of victims on the road of liberty has never dismayed... O nation that has struggled thirty years and whose spear has never bent. Tomorrow is yours, and tomorrow belongs to those who endure. God willing...

Acre — Palestine