Among us, “even at the door”?
Whom else behold we, day by day,
In the sore-laden, patient poor?
And where disease makes want its prey,
Can we not stand that cross beside?
O blest vocation, theirs who come,
At chosen duty’s high behest,
To soothe the squalid couch of pain
With pledges of a better rest
Than all earth’s wealth can give or gain,