FORTIS ATQUE FIDELIS .

Towering above our sufferings and our woes,
 Thou standest calm and steadfast, with good cheer
To those who, swooning in Pain's bitter throes,
 Implore thine aid to shield them from the bier;
Thine aid that death itself has learnt to fear,
 When driven backward by thy skillful blows.

Thou guardest Life, and with a proud disdain,
 Hurlst down its foemen in the hot dispute;
And, with thy watching eyes that never wane,
 Thou, by the horrors of the Death-bed, mute,
Crushest out sorrow to the utter root,
 Oh proud and mighty conqueror of Pain!

Thy soft hand pours mandragora of balm,
 Upon the wounds and wretchedness of men;
Vague hells of torment by thy will turn calm;
 Fevers of fire are softened by thy ken,
While men with joy gaze on thy face, as when
 Some Arab in scorchèd desert meets a palm.

No task too arduous hast been spurned by thee,
 No pain so vivid that thou hast not cured;
No ill so dire but fades by thy decree,
 No hopes so faltering but hast reassured;
Great heart of gold, what hast thou not endured
 To spread thy blessings on humanity!

Thou pluck'st the thorns from fair and fragile flowers,
 And from blue eyes thou turn'st the deathly cloud;
While through the sad, mysterious midnight hours,
 The hopeful sufferer breathes thy name aloud;
And awful visions of the grave and shroud,
 Flee from his fancy by thy subtle powers.

The fiends of pain ne'er fright thee by their curse,
 Thou mock'st their anger in thy giant might;
They, at thy coming, cower and disperse;
 Where they give darkness thou hast given light;
Thou, who hast struggled with life's gall and blight,
 Aye! 'neath the pale, grim shadow of the hearse!

The floods of Lethe thirst for fresher gore,
 The tomb yawns wide and hungers for its prey;
The yells of Death frustrated on its shore;
 Bid thee abide, but thou wilt not obey:
Pursuing still thy combat with decay,
 Born to succeed, to strengthen, to restore.

See the pale poets, while their muse divine,
 Goads on their brain with roses of soft song,
Lavish their riches like a fertile mine,
 Upon the world in accents suave and strong.
Can all their verse a simple life prolong?
 What are their puny deeds compared to thine?

See the red flashing of the sword and steel,
 The tramp of glittering armies sent to kill!
Hear the wild music of the bugles' peal,
 The ranks mowed down, the chief advancing still!
What bloody roles these butcher-heroes fill,
 Tell me, oh thou who wert ordained to heal!

See the grand legions of the painters' art,
 Revels of color and of poesy blent!
How can their beauty numb a mortal smart?
 What peace or rest have they to sufferers lent?
Hast thou not brought to weeping homes content?
 Hast thou not gladdened many a drooping heart?

Yes, thou hast given life and all of life,
 Life, radiant, hopeful, passionate and sweet.
The seeds of ruin, with dank miasm rife,
 Now bloom as flowers, and cling unto thy feet,
While utter praise from fervent lips will greet
 And hail thee victor in the unequal strife.

Laurels far brighter than on Cæsar's brow,
 Will deck thy name in soft perpetual green;
The world is barren, like a leafless bough,
 Of hearts like thine, that love and are not seen,
But prayers of peasant and the smiles of queen,
 Can never make thee nobler than art now.

And thou shalt find thy righteous recompense,
 In fame and fortune, honor and esteem,
Thy love of science, like a new-born sense,
 Will flood thy soul, as some impetuous stream
Bursting its bonds and rushing on supreme,
 Until it riots in some sea immense!

And thou, as years grow on and pass, shalt find.
 A higher end, a far more worthy prize;
Thy name around a hundred hearts enwined,
 Thy presence hailed by loving, grateful eyes,
And worlds admiring will thy fame baptize,
 “As one who toiled and labored for mankind.”