Poems (Helen Jenkins)/Florence Nightingale

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FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
Hark! the dreadful din of battle Cometh from a land afar!Hear the thunder, crash and rattle Of the dauntless demon,—War!
On with dreadful fury rushing,— Deafening drum and bugle-note,Gleaming sword and saber flashing,— Wreathed in smoke their banners float.
There the brave, the true are falling, Dead and dying side by side;While with cannon-roar appalling, Rushes on the fearful tide.
One is there, a ministering angel, Lingering near each dreadful scene,—Gentle Mercy's sweet "Evangel," Brave of heart, with face serene;
O'er each couch of anguish bending, Binding up each bleeding wound;Like a seraph pure descending, Spreading peace and joy around.
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Bravest of old England's daughters, Thou hast won a lasting name!O'er Atlantic's wide-spread waters Comes the glory of thy fame.
Well Britain's queen may deck thee With her rarest, richest gem;Yet a brighter crown awaits thee,— 'Tis a heavenly diadem!
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