There is not in this Green Isle a
As the workhouse of Newry where Guardians do meet
The last rays of feeling and joy must depart
Ere the bloom of their counsel shall fade from my heart
Oh ’tis not that the paupers resplendent are seen
In Bluey-grey raiment, so ample and clean
‘Tis not that the matron adorns them with skill
Oh no! It is something more exquisite still …
Sure it is the sweet fragrance the nurses impart
That moistens the eyelid and gladdens the heart
Sweet fragrance to cherish and cheer like a spell
With the feline amenities mingled as well
Nurse Roche, oh beloved, how calm, I would rest
With my hand on the board that was drawn from my chest
And if that another had there to be placed
I would cherish the laces wherewith I was laced
Nurse Bennett the bonny: Fitzgerald the fair
Of skill so exceeding, of beauty so rare
Methinks to be nursed by such ladies is joy
And to think that such nursing was scouted by
Small wonder that swords from their scabbards were drawn
When the foot of Nurse Welsh fell like dew to the dawn
And the words of the legals waxed bitter and loud
When Nurse Day, like a day beam, smiled out of the cloud.
Bright angels of mercy with aprons for wings
And caps for a halo and brooms for harp strings
How blest the poor paupers whose beds ye surround
How happy the
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A concise history of Newry Workhouse begins here …
What has happened the discussion forums, they were such good fun, rescue them please.