One star still burns albeit the sun declines,
A light goes out, but still one lamp is clear;
The lamp of duty born to persevere
That one time down dark Scutari’s noisome lines
Of indescribable agony shone, still shines;
Still dying soldiers feel an angel’s cheer,
Content to kiss love’s shadow passing near.
And the worst battle woe had anodynes.
Dear lady of the lamp so brave, so frail,
The light you lit shall grow to perfect morn
Till wounds no more may need a woman’s hand,
Ten thousand thousands in that painless land
To our farewells to-day are crying Hail!
And all the world gives thanks that you were
We think to-day of the little Russian prisoner, the poor boy who could not speak or be spoken to till she had taken him in and had him taught and made useful; and how he answered when at length he could understand a question. When asked if he knew where he would to when he was dead, he confidently said; “I shall go to Miss Nightingale”.
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