a poem for him
TRIBUTE TO DR GARY
I've seen him coming through the snow at midnight when a child's fever soard and a young mother painicked.
What a comfort to hear his soft vocie giving instructions and watch his gentle hands preparing a life saving injection!
I've seen him give hope to the aged when there was no hope, and watched him ease ebbing days.His office was always full of sick folks,people hurting,somtimes crying but when he entered the room a peace settled like an unspoken assurance.
He gave himself,not only to medicine but to church and communtiy affairs. young people in his sunday school classes drew upon his vace knowledge as it applied to christian faith . Precious time was devoted to civic clubs and making Arkadelphia a better place to live.
Even as his own health deteriorated he was totally committed to his profession. He continued to work the emergency rooms and make a occasional house calls with a telling limp. Now the healing hand are still. The loss is great, the hurt is deep, and I am not ashamed to cry. A good friend is gone.
By Kitty Clingan Yeager
TRIBUTE TO DR GARY
I've seen him coming through the snow at midnight when a child's fever soard and a young mother painicked.
What a comfort to hear his soft vocie giving instructions and watch his gentle hands preparing a life saving injection!
I've seen him give hope to the aged when there was no hope, and watched him ease ebbing days.His office was always full of sick folks,people hurting,somtimes crying but when he entered the room a peace settled like an unspoken assurance.
He gave himself,not only to medicine but to church and communtiy affairs. young people in his sunday school classes drew upon his vace knowledge as it applied to christian faith . Precious time was devoted to civic clubs and making Arkadelphia a better place to live.
Even as his own health deteriorated he was totally committed to his profession. He continued to work the emergency rooms and make a occasional house calls with a telling limp. Now the healing hand are still. The loss is great, the hurt is deep, and I am not ashamed to cry. A good friend is gone.
By Kitty Clingan Yeager
a poem for him
TRIBUTE TO DR GARY
I've seen him coming through the snow at midnight when a child's fever soard and a young mother painicked.
What a comfort to hear his soft vocie giving instructions and watch his gentle hands preparing a life saving injection!
I've seen him give hope to the aged when there was no hope, and watched him ease ebbing days.His office was always full of sick folks,people hurting,somtimes crying but when he entered the room a peace settled like an unspoken assurance.
He gave himself,not only to medicine but to church and communtiy affairs. young people in his sunday school classes drew upon his vace knowledge as it applied to christian faith . Precious time was devoted to civic clubs and making Arkadelphia a better place to live.
Even as his own health deteriorated he was totally committed to his profession. He continued to work the emergency rooms and make a occasional house calls with a telling limp. Now the healing hand are still. The loss is great, the hurt is deep, and I am not ashamed to cry. A good friend is gone.
By Kitty Clingan Yeager
TRIBUTE TO DR GARY
I've seen him coming through the snow at midnight when a child's fever soard and a young mother painicked.
What a comfort to hear his soft vocie giving instructions and watch his gentle hands preparing a life saving injection!
I've seen him give hope to the aged when there was no hope, and watched him ease ebbing days.His office was always full of sick folks,people hurting,somtimes crying but when he entered the room a peace settled like an unspoken assurance.
He gave himself,not only to medicine but to church and communtiy affairs. young people in his sunday school classes drew upon his vace knowledge as it applied to christian faith . Precious time was devoted to civic clubs and making Arkadelphia a better place to live.
Even as his own health deteriorated he was totally committed to his profession. He continued to work the emergency rooms and make a occasional house calls with a telling limp. Now the healing hand are still. The loss is great, the hurt is deep, and I am not ashamed to cry. A good friend is gone.
By Kitty Clingan Yeager
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