Volume Iii Part 23 (2/2)

We plant the mast to carry the sails; We plant the planks to withstand the gales-- The keel, the keelson, the beam, the knee; We plant the s.h.i.+p when we plant the tree.

What do we plant when we plant the tree?

We plant the houses for you and me.

We plant the rafters, the s.h.i.+ngles, the floors, We plant the studding, the lath, the doors, The beams and siding, all parts that be; We plant the house when we plant the tree.

What do we plant when we plant the tree?

A thousand things that we daily see; We plant the spire that out-towers the crag, We plant the staff for our country's flag, We plant the shade, from the hot sun free; We plant all these when we plant the tree.

Henry Abbey [1842-1911]

THE TREE

I love thee when thy swelling buds appear, And one by one their tender leaves unfold, As if they knew that warmer suns were near, Nor longer sought to hide from winter's cold; And when with darker growth thy leaves are seen To veil from view the early robin's nest, I love to lie beneath thy waving screen, With limbs by summer's heat and toil oppressed; And when the autumn winds have stripped thee bare, And round thee lies the smooth, untrodden snow, When naught is thine that made thee once so fair, I love to watch thy shadowy form below, And through thy leafless arms to look above On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love.

Jones Very [1813-1880]

THE BRAVE OLD OAK

A song to the oak, the brave old oak, Who hath ruled in the greenwood long; Here's health and renown to his broad green crown, And his fifty arms so strong.

There's fear in his frown when the sun goes down, And the fire in the west fades out; And he showeth his might on a wild midnight, When the storms through his branches shout.

Then here's to the oak, the brave old oak, Who stands in his pride alone; And still flourish he, a hale green tree, When a hundred years are gone!

In the days of old, when the spring with cold Had, brightened his branches gray, Through the gra.s.s at his feet crept maidens sweet, To gather the dew of May.

And on that day to the rebeck gay They frolicked with lovesome swains; They are gone, they are dead, in the churchyard laid, But the tree it still remains.

He saw the rare times when the Christmas chimes Were a merry sound to hear, When the squire's wide hall and the cottage small Were filled with good English cheer.

Now gold hath sway we all obey, And a ruthless king is he; But he never shall send our ancient friend To be tossed on the stormy sea.

Henry Fothergill Chorley [1808-1872]

”THE GIRT WOAK TREE THAT'S IN THE DELL”

The girt woak tree that's in the dell!

There's noo tree I do love so well; Vor times an' times when I wer young, I there've a-climbed, an' there've a-zwung, An' picked the eacorns green, a-shed In wrestlen storms vrom his broad head.

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