Little Country Hospital


By Edgar A. Guest

The little country hospital is hidden out of view
And people seldom notice it as pleasure they pursue,
But let an accident befall — which is the fate of men —
The proudest man is glad to see the small-town doctor then.
And in that little hospital which humble folk maintain
He’ll find that hearts are merciful and quick to comfort pain.

It isn’t like the city place, with sections blocks apart,
Where every patient’s listed as a number on a chart
And specialists for this and that convene to thumb him o’er
And ask a thousand questions of the ills he’s had before.
For in the country hospital, which lacks all pomp and style,
The surgeon on his morning round had time to chat awhile.

And whether pain be in your groin, your stomach or your toe,
The cause of it the doctor there assuredly will know.
He will not shunt you round the plays for rays of that and this,
He’ll diagnose your case himself and very seldom miss.
And whosoe’er shall tread the hall when you are free from pain
Will stoop to speak a cheery word and wish you well again.

So little country hospital, which humble folks support,
Which struggles for existence, since its funds are always short,
I pay this simple tribute now to all your tender care
In lessening the hurt and pain which mortals have to bear,
And pray for God’s rich blessing on the men and women brave
Who give their every ounce of strength another’s life to save.

Daily Mail (Hagerstown, Maryland) Oct 11, 1932

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