The Poetry Corner

In The Childrens Hospital

By Alfred Lord Tennyson

EMMIE I. Our doctor had calld in another, I never had seen him before, But he sent a chill to my heart when I saw him come in at the door, Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other lands Harsh red hair, big voice, big chest, big merciless hands! Wonderful cures he had done, O, yes, but they said too of him He was happier using the knife than in trying to save the limb, And that I can well believe, for he lookd so coarse and so red, I could think he was one of those who would break their jests on the dead, And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawnd at his knee Drenchd with the hellish ooralithat ever such things should be! II. Here was a boyI am sure that some of our children would die But for the voice of love, and the smile, and the comforting eye Here was a boy in the ward, every bone seemd out of its place Caught in a mill and crushdit was all but a hopeless case: And he handled him gently enough; but his voice and his face were not kind, And it was but a hopeless case, he had seen it and made up his mind, And he said to me roughly, The lad will need little more of your care. All the more need, I told him, to seek The Lord Jesus in prayer; They are all His children here, and I pray for them all as my own. But he turnd to me, Ay, good woman, can prayer set a broken bone? Then he mutterd half to himself, but I know that I heard him say, All very wellbut the good Lord Jesus has had his day. III. Had? has it come? It has only dawnd. It will come by and by. O, how could I serve in the wards if the hope of the world were a lie? How could I bear with the sights and the loathsome smells of disease But that He said, Ye do it to me, when ye do it to these? IV. So he went. And we past to this ward where the younger children are laid. Here is the cot of our orphan, our darling, our meek little maid; Empty, you see, just now! We have lost her who loved her so much Patient of pain tho as quick as a sensitive plant to the touch. Hers was the prettiest prattle, it often moved me to tears, Hers was the gratefullest heart I have found in a child of her years Nay you remember our Emmie; you used to send her the flowers. How she would smile at em, play with em, talk to em hours after hours! They that can wander at will where the works of the Lord are reveald Little guess what joy can be got from a cowslip out of the field; Flowers to these spirits in prison are all they can know of the spring, They freshen and sweeten the wards like the waft of an angels wing. And she lay with a flower in one hand and her thin hands crost on her breast Wan, but as pretty as heart can desire, and we thought her at rest, Quietly sleepingso quiet, our doctor said, Poor little dear, Nurse, I must do it to-morrow; shell never live thro it, I fear. V. I walkd with our kindly old doctor as far as the head of the stair, Then I returnd to the ward; the child didnt see I was there. VI. Never since I was nurse had I been so grieved and so vext! Emmie had heard him. Softly she calld from her cot to the next, He says I shall never live thro it; O Annie, what shall I do? Annie considerd. If I, said the wise little Annie, was you, I should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to help me, for, Emmie, you see, Its all in the picture there: Little children should come to me Meaning the print that you gave us, I find that it always can please Our children, the dear Lord Jesus with children about his knees. Yes, and I will, said Emmie, but then if I call to the Lord, How should he know that its me? such a lot of beds in the ward! That was a puzzle for Annie. Again she considerd and said: Emmie, you put out your arms, and you leave em outside on the bed The Lord has so much to see to! but, Emmie, you tell it him plain, Its the little girl with her arms lying out on the counterpane. VII. I had sat three nights by the childI could not watch her for four My brain had begun to reelI felt I could do it no more. That was my sleeping-night, but I thought that it never would pass. There was a thunderclap once, and a clatter of hail on the glass, And there was a phantom cry that I heard as I tost about, The motherless bleat of a lamb in the storm and the darkness without; My sleep was broken besides with dreams of the dreadful knife And fears for our delicate Emmie who scarce would escape with her life; Then in the gray of the morning it seemd she stood by me and smiled, And the doctor came at his hour, and we went to see to the child. VIII. He had brought his ghastly tools; we believed her asleep again Her dear, long, lean, little arms lying out on the counterpane Say that His day is done! Ah, why should we care what they say? The Lord of the children had heard her, and Emmie had past away.