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. 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. A WOUNDED SOLDIER TO FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. AMID the dismal silence Of this ghastly house of pain, As a shower of summer rain? Above this couch, where agony What angel-visage haunteth me, Oh! is it but a dream of night, Or can I trust my fading sight- Yes! thou art Florence Nightingale ; I know and bless thee now. Thy cheek with weariness is pale, 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 Man! thou art strong in danger, But thy nature is a stranger To the might of woman's will; |