19 DECEMBER 1952, Page 8

The Surgeon

In his fine hands

Have lain the destinies of ancient lands ; His instruments Flickered about the heart of excellence ; On his precision Hung happiness, and life on his incision.

He touched a brain To bring to birth great symphonies again ; New lineaments He carved for those who crashed in our defence, Yet, none the less, Held that all men must end in nothingness.

L. E. J.