THE FAMILY DOCTOR

I've tried the high-toned specialists, who doctor folks to-day;

I've heard the throat man whisper low “Come on now let us spray”;

I've sat in fancy offices and waited long my turn,

And paid for fifteen minutes what it took a week to earn;

But while these scientific men are kindly, one and all,

I miss the good old doctor that my mother used to call.

The old-time family doctor! Oh, I am sorry that he's gone,

He ushered us into the world and knew us every one;

He did n't have to ask a lot of questions, for he knew

Our histories from birth and all the ailments we'd been through.

And though as children small we feared the medicines he'd send,

The old-time family doctor grew to be our dearest friend.

No hour too late, no night too rough for him to heed our call;

He knew exactly where to hang his coat up in the hall;

He knew exactly where to go, which room upstairs to find

The patient he'd been called to see, and saying: “Never mind,

I'll run up there myself and see what's causing all the fuss.”

It seems we grew to look and lean on him as one of us.

He had a big and kindly heart, a fine and tender way,

And more than once I've wished that I could call him in to-day.

The specialists are clever men and busy men, I know,

And have n't time to doctor as they did long years ago;

But some day he may come again, the friend that we can call,

The good old family doctor who will love us one and all.