  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 didn'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 haven'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. |
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