Of all the ills that suffering man endures, The largest fraction liberal Nature cures; Of those remaining, 't is the smallest part Yields to the efforts of judicious Art; But simple _Kindness_, kneeling by the bed To shift the pillow for the sick man's head, Give the fresh draught to cool the lips that burn, Fan the hot brow, the weary frame to turn,-- Kindness, untutored by our grave M. D.'s, But Nature's graduate, when she schools to please, Wins back more sufferers with her voice and smile Than all the trumpery in the druggist's pile. Once more, be quiet: coming up the stair, Don't be a plantigrade, a human bear, But, stealing softly on the silent toe, Reach the sick chamber ere you're heard below. Whatever changes there may greet your eyes, Let not your looks proclaim the least surprise; It's not your business by your face to show All that your patient does not want to know; Nay, use your optics with considerate care, And don't abuse your privilege to stare. But if your eyes may probe him overmuch, Beware still further how you rudely touch; Don't clutch his carpus in your icy fist, But warm your fingers ere you take the wrist. If the poor victim needs must be percussed, Don't make an anvil of his aching bust; (Doctors exist within a hundred miles Who thump a thorax as they'd hammer piles;) If you must listen to his doubtful chest, Catch the essentials, and ignore the rest. Spare him; the sufferer wants of you and art A track to steer by, not a finished chart. So of your questions: don't in mercy try To pump your patient absolutely dry; He's not a mollusk squirming in a dish, You're not Agassiz; and he's not a fish. And last, not least, in each perplexing case, Learn the sweet magic of a cheerful face; Not always smiling, but at least serene, When grief and anguish cloud the anxious scene. Each look, each movement, every word and tone, Should tell your patient you are all his own; Not the mere artist, purchased to attend, But the warm, ready, self-forgetting friend, Whose genial visit in itself combines The best of cordials, tonics, anodynes. Such is the _visit_ that from day to day Sheds o'er my chamber its benignant ray. I give his health, who never cared to claim Her babbling homage from the tongue of Fame; Unmoved by praise, he stands by all confest, The truest, noblest, wisest, kindest, best. 1849. THE TWO ARMIES As Life's unending column pours, Two marshalled hosts are seen,-- Two armies on the trampled shores That Death flows black between. One marches to the drum-beat's roll, The wide-mouthed clarion's bray, And bears upon a crimson scroll, "Our glory is to slay." One moves in silence by the stream, With sad, yet watchful eyes, Calm as the patient planet's gleam That walks the clouded skies. Along its front no sabres shine, No blood-red pennons wave; Its banner bears the single line, "Our duty is to save."