Doctor Mother by Folger McKinsey

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Jul 1, 1915

Doctor Mother

By Folger McKinsey

A LITTLE wound, a little ache, A little blistered thumb to take With touch of love and make it well,— These things require a mother's spell. Ah, sweet the progress of the skill That science brings unto the ill! Vast range of methods new and fine; But when our little ones repine, The mother is the very best Of doctors into service pressed!

Sunshine and air and mother's spell Of helping little lads get well, And helping little lasses, too— Here are three remedies that do So much more, often, than the grave, Skilled hands that try so hard to save. For Doctor Mother, don't you know, Gives something more than skill—gives so Much of herself; gives, oh, so much Of love's sweet alchemy of touch!

Upon a little ward-room bed A little curl-encircled head, A little slender hand and pale, A little lonesome, homesick wail; Loved nursing, best of skill and care; But, oh, behold the wonder there When Doctor Mother, bearing sun From where the wilding roses run, Leans down, with hungering love and kiss— There is no medicine like this!

In a little child-heart’s hour of woe, Pain, ache, or life wound’s throb and throe, The Doctor Mother knows so well The weaving of love’s wonder spell— Just what the little heart requires, Just how to cool the fever fires; Just how much tenderness and cheer Will calm the little doubt and fear; How much of gentleness will ease— Alone she knows such arts as these!

— Folger McKinsey.