The Anxious Moment

THE VILLAGE DOCTOR

The storm-cloud hung on Mansfield's brow-
The wind blew piercingly and chill;
Fierce through the leafless branches shrieked,
And roared along the fir-clad hill.

The deep'ning snow that all day long
Had fallen silently and fast,

Now densely filled the frosty air,

And piled in drifts before the blast.

And still we sat-the hours sped

The storm increased with fearful might;

"I hope," our tender mother said,

No one's abroad this dreadful night."

Our mother's voice had hardly ceased,
When sudden through the opening door,
O'er drifts, the quaint old doctor sprung,
And forward fell upon the floor.

His brow was crusted o'er with ice,

And crisp and frozen was his cheek; His limbs were paralyzed with cold;

For once, the doctor could not speak.

With genial warmth, and tender care,

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He soon revived, and said: Come Bill,

Be kind enough to get my mare,

I must reach Martin's, on the hill."

Then on again, o'er trackless snow,
Against the biting winter blast,

Without the hope of worldly gain,

Through mountain drifts, the doctor passed.

Far up the winding mountain road,

Through forest dark and blinding snow,

He reached the desolate abode

Of sickness, poverty and woe.

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