There are dying ones raving of home,
There are wounds to be bound with a blessing—
And shrouds to make ready for some.
Up and down, through the wards, where the fever
Stalks noisome, and gaunt, and impure,
You must go with your steadfast endeavor,
To comfort, to counsel, to cure!
I grant that the task’s superhuman,
But strength will be given to you
To do for these dear ones what woman