Old Doc

by George O. Remy of Ainsworth, NE

I’ve traveled O'er Nebraska's plains

Through north winds white with frost,

Through drifting snow and freezing sleet,

Nor stopped to count the cost.

I’ve driven miles and miles and miles

Through mud and sleet and rain,

My only recompense, a hope

To ease my fellow's pain.

I've spent what little cash I had

For books and instruments,

That I might be prepared, when called

To put up a defense

Against the germs that swarm around

To lay us mortals low, -

Sometimes, I hope, I've been the one

Who caused these germs to go.

I’ve helped the mother in travail,

I’ve eased her racking pain;

And from the yawning open grave

Have brought her back again.

I’ve placed her baby to her breast,

Whence it might draw its life;

I’ve given back to home and friends

A mother and a wife.

I've tried to treat the people fair

And give them honest work;

I’ve done my duty where 'twas plain

And never tried to shirk.

I’ve treated rich and poor alike

And never thought to gain,

The only recompense I craved

Was to relieve their pain.

All this I've done, good friends, and more;

I've even brought them food.

To keep the wolf from breaking in,

As otherwise he would.

But, when good fortune smiles again,

The past is all ignored.

They pass me by without a smile

Or even a friendly word.

When I have died in poverty

these folks will gather round,

And say: he lacked good common sense;

Quick, put him under ground.

He had too much of sentiment,

If he had made 'em pay,

He might have died like real folks

And bought his own bouquet.