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Show B The Village Doctor. B Along the village streets where maples lean B Together like old friends ahout the way, B A faithful pair oft and anon were seen B He and his nag both growing old and gray. B What secrets lurked within that old soul's breast, B Of mother-love, of throb of pains and ills, B All safely kept beneath that buttoned vest, B Receptacle of powders and of pills. B Thrice happy he when some fond mother's eyes B Giew moist with love unspeakable to And B Snugged to her breast her babe whose paradise B Within her soul and bosom were entwined. B How oft he held the wrist to mark the slow B Pulsations of the feebly ilut'ring heart, B While his kind words, soft-murmuring and low, B Essayed to calm the mourner's pain and smart. B He was to all a father, brother, friend; B Their joys were his, their sorrows were his own. B He sleeps in peace where yonder willows bend B Above the violets that kiss the stone. B Horace Seymour Keller in New York Sun. |