The Doctor! How that name doth call to mind A train of thoughts, some painful, some sublime, And visions rise of grim Death put to rout By his great skill. No hero of the past Deserves to be acclaimed, or wear a crown More than doth he. For him no sacrifice Has been too great; no deed too small to claim His noblest thought. His duty stands supreme. On his broad shoulders there is placed a load So great, which, were we called to share, we'd cry Aloud in agony and pain,—and yet No Sign or word doth emanate from him, He doth not show by outward countenance The burdens of humanity he bears. I watch him as he sits beside the bed Of a sick child. The mother with her hands in prayer In dumb appeal aloft entreats God's help. The father with a soul too full of grief To shed a tear is close beside her there. And he alone of all reflects a calm Like unto that which stills the ocean's deeps Ere they are lashed by furies of the storm. I see the yellow lamp-light gleam and spread Its brilliant rays which seem to tinge with gold Each little curl that nestles 'round the head Of the sick babe. No smile plays o'er those lips Made redder by the fever's burning course. E'en hope seems dead;—and yet, to him, there's hope. Again my memory doth reveal a scene, A happy, thankful scene of joy which shows A doctor's hope made real, an answered prayer; Two grateful hearts whose benisons descend Upon his head. I see a child who bursts Into the picture with its arms outstretched, With smiles upon those lips where fever raged. I see two arms around the doctor's neck In child-like love; and all is peace and joy. I read a doctor's heart as he departs, Anxiety and care have furrowed deep. That heart has bled and wept in solitude, And no one knew. And now @3its@1 prayers ascend In thanks to God who stayed Death's fearful hand. I go with him upon his daily round To other homes where sickness and despair Are crouching low, like monsters of the wood Who snatch life's travellers as they tread the road. And in them all he's treated just as if He bore within his palm the spark of life, And could bestow on all who asked of him The boon of health and happiness and peace. I watch him in the fierce storm's height go forth With no thought of himself or rest's desire, And answer duty's call with a sweet smile Which cheered and brightened every soul in sight, And never do I hear a word that breathes A discontented syllable aloud. O Doctor, there's a regal crown for you, And when the Great Physician calls you home You'll find a robe of iridescent cloth Is weaved for you from out the tears of love Which have been shed by those you've blest on earth, You'll find a place that Christ Himself has made And has reserved for you. He went about As you do now, and healed the sick and lame, And He has granted you the skill and might To emulate Him in your work of love. And every morn our prayers on high shall rise To bless you as you go upon your way, And never will you lack an earthly friend While we are living in this finite world. |