TO MY FATHER. ARTHUR JOHN HUBBARD. M.D.
Written by his daughter Frances when about 15.
A doctor, gentle in his ways, was he.
“A thorough gentleman”, the poor folk said.
As welcome was his face by the sick bed
As to a tired child its mother’s knee.
His smile the brightest you could wish to see,
Before its magic every trouble fled.
The patients listened for his quiet tread
And trustingly obeyed all his decree.
Though wise and skilful when the need arose
Yet he could throw all care aside at will,
And be a merry schoolboy when he chose.
'Tis said it was a pleasure to be ill
To see him come. Ah, no one ever knows
Who has not felt the wonder of his skill.