Florence Nightingale

Come help me Florence Nightingale I need your healing hands I need your guiding lamp my lady Meet my one demand The people, oh they told me That I’ll never be the man If I don’t bow down to their decree Then “Cursed by God, I am!” Come be my saviour, Nightingale To you I shall implore There’s a righteous group of Christian Soldiers Lurching on the floor So help me if you find me Locked behind the cellar door And there I’ll rest like Edgar’s Raven There, forever more So wherefor art thou Nightingale? If quoting Will I must My visions of you on a steed With lamp in hand I trust And golden lace and silver trace And diamond jewels incrust But visions never saved a soul For souls are all but rust For now the feathered Nightingale Can sing for me a song The sweetest bird I ever heard Has been here all along For the Lady with the Lamp and healing hands Could do no wrong But I know that in my mind she stays And that’s where she belongs Still I whisper, dear Florence Sing for me a song...