I EDITH CAVELL The world hath its own dead; great motions start In human breasts, and make for them a place In that hushed sanctuary of the race Where every day men come, kneel, and depart. Of them, O English nurse, henceforth thou art, A name to pray on, and to all a face Of household consecration; such His grace Whose universal dwelling is the heart. O gentle hands that soothed the soldier's brow, And knew no service save of Christ the Lord! Thy country now is all humanity! How like a flower thy womanhood doth show In the harsh scything of the German sword, And beautifies the world that saw it die! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LENTEN GREETING; TO A LADY by GEORGE SANTAYANA FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF JOHN KEATS' DEATH by SARA TEASDALE MEMORIAL DAY by WILLIAM E. BROOKS INSTANS TYRANNUS by ROBERT BROWNING WILLIAM AND HELEN by GOTTFRIED AUGUST BURGER TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH by ROBERT BURNS DARK ROSALEEN by TOMAS COSTELLO |