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168
The East London Children's Hospital.
Have we seen them tattered and mire-defiled
On the door-steps at their play?
Have we heard their voices so shrill and wild
'Mid the roar of the thronging way?
On the door-steps at their play?
Have we heard their voices so shrill and wild
'Mid the roar of the thronging way?
Are they the same—so quiet and pale
In their cots of snowy white,
Like bells of Word-sorrel tender and frail
In the gleamy April light?
In their cots of snowy white,
Like bells of Word-sorrel tender and frail
In the gleamy April light?
There are no rude looks in those hollow eyes
With their wistful wondering gaze:
Soft sad whispers are all that rise
From the lips that have learnt new ways.
With their wistful wondering gaze:
Soft sad whispers are all that rise
From the lips that have learnt new ways.
Children's hearts they are easy to reach,
And love has had its turn;
And sickness has holy lessons to teach,
And the little ones quickly learn.
And love has had its turn;
And sickness has holy lessons to teach,
And the little ones quickly learn.
169
They might have been children of high degree
And of proud historic race,
For God has made them as fair to see,
And as sweet in their childish grace.
And of proud historic race,
For God has made them as fair to see,
And as sweet in their childish grace.
Ah children! Ah children! It is not in vain
Ye are suffering thus, if ye knew;
For the world would be hard without sorrow and pain,
And we should be hard without you.
Ye are suffering thus, if ye knew;
For the world would be hard without sorrow and pain,
And we should be hard without you.
(1885.)
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