Poems (Curwen)/The Doctor
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The Doctor.
DR. STARK.
Who that has stood by a loved sufferer's bed,
Heartsick and powerless to render aid,
Has not rejoiced to hear the doctor's tread,
And in his presence found their fear allayed,
Feeling a sense of comfort in his power
To avert, or mitigate, the evil hour.
Heartsick and powerless to render aid,
Has not rejoiced to hear the doctor's tread,
And in his presence found their fear allayed,
Feeling a sense of comfort in his power
To avert, or mitigate, the evil hour.
Is there a nobler, higher mission than
Devoting life, to strive for other's weal?
Surely, he best does serve his fellow man
Who spends his life endeavouring to heal
The sick, combating fell disease and pain;
He who thus lives can not have lived in vain.
Devoting life, to strive for other's weal?
Surely, he best does serve his fellow man
Who spends his life endeavouring to heal
The sick, combating fell disease and pain;
He who thus lives can not have lived in vain.
One whom we mourn to-day, with hearts sincere—
Who in this noble service has grown grey—
Has oft with cheery words dispelled our fear,
When sick and helpless in the past we lay;
But now his work is done, his rest has come,
And the good doctor is asleep—at home.
Who in this noble service has grown grey—
Has oft with cheery words dispelled our fear,
When sick and helpless in the past we lay;
But now his work is done, his rest has come,
And the good doctor is asleep—at home.
O Father! when Thy summons we, too, hear,
And we are come unto the borderland,
Grant that the Great Physician may be near
To calm our fluttering pulse with His strong hand
And, as our eyes grow dim in the last strife,
May we read in His face—not death—but life.
And we are come unto the borderland,
Grant that the Great Physician may be near
To calm our fluttering pulse with His strong hand
And, as our eyes grow dim in the last strife,
May we read in His face—not death—but life.