Bennett Medical College - Em Dee Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

Page 206 text:

AN EXAMPLE TO MAN. l've never known a dog to wag His tail in glee, he didn't feel Nor quit his old-time friend to tag At some more influential heel. The yellowest cur l ever knew Was, to the boy who loved him, true. l've never known a dog to show Half way devotion to his friend, To seek a kinder man to know, Or richer, but unto the end The humblest dog I ever knew Was, to the man who loved him, true. l've never known a dog to fake Affection for a present gain, Or false display of love to make, Some little favor to attain. l've never known a Jack or Spot That seemed to be what he was not. But l have known a dog to fight With all his strength to shield a friend And, whether wrong or whether right, To stick with him unto the end. And l have known a dog to lick The hand of him that men would kick. And l have known a dog to bear Starvation's pangs, from day to day, With him who had been glad to share His bread and meat along the way. No dog, however mean or rude ls guilty of ingratitude. The dog is listed with the dumb, No voice has he to speak his creed, His messages to human come By faithful conduct, and by deed. He shows, as seldom mortals do, A high ideal of being true. -D. j. FLANAN, 'l8. ll

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WHERE' THE DOCTOR'S WIFE. The night was dark and bitter cold, The wind across the prairie swept, While I in comforts warm enrolled, Snored softly on and soundly slept. When suddenly my doorbell rang- Infernal sound! It pierced my ears As on the creaking floor I sprang, My heart athrob with direst fears, Lest one had come to call me out Into the cruel, biting blast- I for my garments cast about, Wishing this night call were my last. But oh, the best thought of my life! It calms me now as oft before. I'll send my thoughtful, faithful wife To meet the stranger at the door. She goes, and oh! the sweetest lies That ever mortal tongue has told, As in her artless way she tries To say-that I'm out in the cold. 'AI-le won't be home till break of day, An' then he'll come, poor tired man, l'm awful sorry he's away, I-Ie'll come as promptly as he can. I go to bed, but not to sleep: I ponder long on doctors' wives, The only ones who ever think Of our rest-broken, weary lives. I somehow think God clon't record Those little white lies often tolcl, To give a way-worn doctor sleep, Or save him from the winter's cold. And if He does, I'm sure His pen Writes very near, in letters bright, A tender thought of her who thinks Of doctors, toiling in the night. -DR. j. W. BELL 201

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WN 6 KIPLING. lf you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on youg If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you. And make allowance for their doubting, too: lf you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies: Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good or talk too wiseg If you can dream and not make dreams your master: If you can think and not make thoughts your aim: if you can meet with triumph and disaster, And treat those two imposters just the sameg If you can bear to hear the truths you've spoken, ' Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or see the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools If you can make one heap of all your winnings, And risk it on one turn of pitch and toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss: lf you can force each heart and nerve and sinew To serve your purpose long after they are gone And then when there is nothing in you Except the will which says to them, Hold on! If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue: Or walk with kings nor lose the common touchg lt neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you: If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can Fill each unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run. The earth is yours, and everything that's in it, And, what is more, you'll be a man. my son. -KIPLING. 203