THE NIGHTINGALE'S SONG TO THE SICK SOLDIER
Listen, soldier, to the tale of the tender Nightingale,
'Tis a charm that soon will ease your wounds so cruel,
Singing medicine for your pain, in a sympathizing strain,
With a jug, jug, jug of lemonade or gruel.
Singing bandages and lint, salve and cerate without stint,
Singing plenty both of liniment and lotion,
And your mixtures pushed about, and the pills for you served out,
With alacrity and promptitude of motion.
Singing light and gentle hands, and a nurse who understands