Classic Poem

Sister Jerome, Sister Jerome,
Come take my white hot hands,
For I would tell you a little tale
Of lovely far-off lands.
Sweet my child,
Hark to the bell
That bids me hasten …
What have you to tell?

Sister Jerome, Sister Jerome,
'T is such a little tale—
So far away from fever—
Just of a cool dim vale

Where two wee winds come singing,
Singing through the trees:
O every night they come and sing
Their sweet wind-melodies.

They bring deep breaths of coolness
And healing summer rain,
And silvery, silvery soft they fling
It on the window-pane;

And all the folks that hear them
Lie very still and sleep;
They do not moan and murmur—no—
Nor say strange words and weep;

For the little winds bring coolness
And healing summer rain,
And then they softly laugh and kiss
And turn and go again.

O when the pain beats brightly,
Go, take each by the hand—
The sufferers; bid them dream the way
To that peace-flooded land.

Dear my child,
Sure I will tell
Of the kind wee winds. …
Hark again the bell.