Ode to a Lady.
(The Medical Bloke sings)

"O Sodi Sal! O Sodi Sal!
Had ever man a better pal,
A stauncher, truer, handy gal?
My flagging spirit finds new grace
To smile when you are 'bout the place.
Yet— never have I seen your face,
My Sodi Sal!

A red-cheeked, buxom, smiling maid,
In ample cotton-print arrayed,
With hands which more have toiled than played—
Yet hands of untaught kindliness,
Quick ever with a rough caress—
So would I picture you, my lass,
My Sodi Sal!

With soothing touch you bring again
Sweet coolness to the fevered brain,
Or gently stroke away men's pain.
For rheums that linger in the breast,
For indigestion in the chest,
For colic 'neath the lower vest—
You, Sodi Sal!

For sprains of the illusive kind,
For light derangements of the mind,
For aches all round, in fact, behind,
For those queer maladies that spring
Before a stunt to sudden being,
For sickness swung upon a string—
You, Sodi Sal!

Day in, day out, without complaint,
You serve the weak and sick and faint,
A cheerful, toiling, homely saint—
My Sodi Sal!

Palestine. "Larrie."