"Hands of Grace"
For every nurse, past and present.
In corridors dim where silence sighs,
Where life begins and softly dies,
They walk with grace on weary feet,
With hearts that never miss a beat.
Their hands may tremble, yet they heal,
With every touch, a bond they seal.
Through pain and fear, through joy and tears,
They carry hopes and calm our fears.
They are the first to wipe a brow,
The last to speak a soft “rest now.”
In gowns of white or scrubs of blue,
Their souls shine through in all they do.
They fight without a sword or shield,
On battlegrounds where wounds won’t yield.
Their stethoscopes, their only steel,
Their empathy—the balm we feel.
They learn to bear what others flee,
To sit with death, to set love free.
To laugh with those who cannot stand,
To hold a life in steady hands.
And though the world may turn away,
They rise again to meet each day.
For nursing is not just a role
It is a calling, heart and soul.
So here’s to nurses strong and kind,
With healing touch and tireless mind.
In every shift, they light the dark,
Each life they tend a sacred spark.
Edith Cavell (1865–1915)
British nurse, executed for saving lives.
A symbol of courage, care, and conscience.
