Poetry Archives

In our own native land a Hospital stands,
    Its praises I faintly would speak;
To me it seems grand, enclosed in love’s bands
    By the Sisters of Charity meek.

These Sisters are lowly and humble and holy,
    All striving their God to obey;
They watch o’er the poorly, while dreaming they surely
    Can all of their sufferings allay.

Heaven’s blessings are resting on them as they’re testing
    Their freedom from sorrow and sin,
And God will uphold them and angels enfold them,
    Till a heavenly crown they will win.

My happiness lost on the world tempest-tossed,
    Weary and heart-sick with pain,
Providently I came to Providence by name,
    Where my health I did quickly regain.

In language though weak my thoughts I would speak,
    My gratitude is without bounds,
To my nurses while blind and physicians so kind,
    And the owners of Providence grounds.