"The LORD will strengthen him upon the bed of
languishing: Thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness."
~ Psalm 41:3 ~
Narrow beds by one another-
White and low!
Through them softly, as in church-aisles,
Nurses go-
For the hot lips ice-drops bring,
Cold and clear;
Or white eyelids gently closing,
For the bier.
Strong men, in a moment smitten
Down from strength,
Brave men, now in anguish praying-
Death at length,
Burns the nightlamp where the watchers by the bed,
Write for many a waiting loved-one,
"He is dead!"
One lies there in utter weakness-
Shattered, faint-
But his brow wears calm befitting
Martyred saint;
And although the lips must quiver,
They can smile,
As he says, "This will be over In a while."
"As the old crusaders, weeping in delight,
Knelt when Zion's holy city
Rose in sight,
So I fling aside my weapon,
from the din
To the quietness of Heaven,
Entering in.
"Standing in the solemn shadow
Of God's hand,
Love of glory fading from me,
Love of land,
I thank God that he has let me
Strike one blow
For this poor and helpless people,
Ere I go."
White and whiter grows the glory
On his brow;
Does he see the towers of Zion
Rising now?
Stands the doctor, weary, hurried,
By his bed-
"Here is room for one more wounded-
He is dead."
