The River Falls Journal

POETRY
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE
FROM THE "ATLANTIC MONTHLY."
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,
Our hearts in glad surprise
To higher levels rise.
The tidal wave of deeper souls
Into our inmost being rolls,
And lifts us unawares
Out of all meaner cares.
Honor to those whose words or deeds
Thus help us in our daily needs,
And by their overflow
Raise us to what is low.
The thought, by night if read,
Of the great army of the dead,
The trench cold and damp,
The reel and frozen camp,
The wail from the battle-plain,
In dreary hospitals of pain,
The cheerless corridors,
The cold and stony floors.
In that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see
Pass through the glimmering gloom,
And flit from room to room.
And slow, as in a dream of bliss,
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss
Her shadow, as it falls
Upon the darkening walls.
As if a door in heaven should be
Opened, and then closed suddenly,
The vision came and went,
And light shone and was spent.
On England's annals, through the long
Hereafter of her speech and song,
That light its speech shall cast
From portals of the past.
A lady with a lamp shall stand
In the great history of the land,
A noble type of good,
Heroic womanhood.
Nor even shall be wanting here
The palm, the lily, and the spear,
The symbols that of yore
Saint Filomena bore.