IN MEDICAL SCIENCE. 79 



THE TWO AKMIES. 



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 tne 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." 



For those no death-bed's lingering shade ; 



At Honor's trumpet-call. 

 With knitted brow and lifted blade 



In Glory's arms they fall. 



For these no clashing falchions bright, 



No stirring battle-cry ; 

 The bloodless stabber calls by night, — 



Each answers, " Here am I ! " 



