The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth With Sixteen Illustrations. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton |
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FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. |
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 | The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth |  |
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FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
Learning could not crush thy heart,
Thou art gentle woman still;
All thine aim, her better part
Well and truly to fulfil.
Thou art gentle woman still;
All thine aim, her better part
Well and truly to fulfil.
All the pleasures of thy sex,
All its little gauds and toys,
Never did thy soul perplex—
Thou hast far sublimer joys.
All its little gauds and toys,
Never did thy soul perplex—
Thou hast far sublimer joys.
O sweet lady! thou indeed,
Where thy saintly virtues shine,
Dost exalt thy Christian creed
By those holy works of thine.
Where thy saintly virtues shine,
Dost exalt thy Christian creed
By those holy works of thine.
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Thou shalt have a foremost place
In the annals of our time:
They have much of mean and base,
Something also of sublime.
In the annals of our time:
They have much of mean and base,
Something also of sublime.
Many a soldier, old and grey,
Afterwards shall tell the tale
How he watched you as he lay,
Holy Florence Nightingale,
Afterwards shall tell the tale
How he watched you as he lay,
Holy Florence Nightingale,
Walking through the wards at night,
Crowded corridors of pain!
How he watched your lessening light
Like a star, till lost again!
Crowded corridors of pain!
How he watched your lessening light
Like a star, till lost again!
Fragile bodies often hold
Hearts devoted, brave, and true;
Fragile bodies, hero-souled,
Mighty tasks can struggle through.
Hearts devoted, brave, and true;
Fragile bodies, hero-souled,
Mighty tasks can struggle through.
Whilst another frame endures
Sickness, you forget your own:
Some, with less excuse than yours,
Would have lived for self alone.
Sickness, you forget your own:
Some, with less excuse than yours,
Would have lived for self alone.
Lady! thus a rhymer pours
Idle music in thine ear;
But thy spirit where it soars
Sweeter sounds must often hear.
Idle music in thine ear;
But thy spirit where it soars
Sweeter sounds must often hear.
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Sweeter far than poet's tongue,
Or the murmurs of the crowd,
Is the heavenly music sung
In the conscience clear and loud.
Or the murmurs of the crowd,
Is the heavenly music sung
In the conscience clear and loud.
Angels' voices, day and night,
Cheer thee on through toil and pain;
In thy bosom burns a light;
Aids unseen thy strength sustain.
Cheer thee on through toil and pain;
In thy bosom burns a light;
Aids unseen thy strength sustain.
| The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth | |