Kneel down, thou man of sin! with me,

And Heaven's bright gates shall welcome thee.

The sweetest joy that angels know

Is when a penitent, forgiven,

Forsakes his sin, restrains his woe,

And lifts his face in faith to Heaven.
If Time a drop of bliss can pour
Into the deep, eternal Mind,

It is by sending from its shore

A soul in trial's fire refined.

Lo! who are these, in robes of white,

Seated beside the sacred river?

Lo! these have passed through trouble's night,

And now they dwell in peace for ever!

Repent! and thou shalt join that throng.

Thy sins are great, but love and grace are strong.

They kneel down-the bell tolling below-and the star shining serenely upon them from above.

OCCASIONAL POEMS.

OCCASIONAL POEMS.

A WOUNDED SOLDIER TO FLORENCE

NIGHTINGALE.

AMID the dismal silence

Of this ghastly house of pain,
What voice is falling softly

As a shower of summer rain?

Above this couch, where agony
The human form doth mar,

What angel-visage haunteth me,
Like a pure and holy star?

Oh! is it but a dream of night,
That mocketh eye and ear?

Or can I trust my fading sight-
Is a gentle woman near?

Yes! thou art Florence Nightingale ;

I know and bless thee now.

Thy cheek with weariness is pale,
But mercy lights thy brow.

Thou hast left a home of happiness; Thou hast crossed the raging wave, To shed a blessing o'er distress,

To rob the greedy grave!

For the kindness of that tender hand, And the pity of that eye,

Who fears to suffer for his land?

Who sorrows thus to die?

This deadly shore is shining

With deeds of deathless fame;

But the fairest bays are twining
Around a woman's name!

Man! thou art strong in danger,
TO DUTY faithful still;

But thy nature is a stranger

To the might of woman's will;