The world hath its own dead; great motions start <br />In human breasts, and make for them a place <br />In that hushed sanctuary of the race <br />Where every day men come, kneel, and depart. <br />Of them, O English nurse, henceforth thou art, <br />A name to pray on, and to all a face <br />Of household consecration; such His grace <br />Whose universal dwelling is the heart. <br /> <br /> <br />O gentle hands that soothed the soldier's brow, <br />And knew no service save of Christ the Lord! <br />Thy country now is all humanity! <br />How like a flower thy womanhood doth show <br />In the harsh scything of the German sword, <br />And beautifies the world that saw it die!<br /><br />George Edward Woodberry<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/edith-cavell/
