That noble brow I next observe,
Fountain of thoughts so pure and sweet,
Teaching us all the way to serve
Our fellow men whene’er we meet.
Now as a whole I will define,
That pleasant smile, that charming face,
That beams with joy in ev’ry line,
And wraps our hearts in love’s embrace.
Oft have we felt the friendly glow,
That bubbled from her gen’rous soul,
Like as a spring whose overflow,
Yields cooling draughts to make us whole.
Her tender voice no more is heard,
Her friendly acts and pleasant way,
Her gentle hand and soothing word,
Are gone away, all gone away.
But graven on our aching hearts,
Her loving face is firmly cast,
And fortune’s sway, nor sorrow’s darts,
Can wash it out while life doth last.
BRAVER THE SICK.
Brave are the soldiers who go forth to fight,
Tho chances of death are one in a hundred,
Brave are the sailors who stand for the right,
Tho the hours of battle are soon numbered.
Brave are the life savers who plunge in the main,
And rescue the drowning and land them on shore,
But braver the sick who long suffer pain,
And bear it as Christ once bore it before.