OUR POET FRIENDS. 261 
- “One moment he beholds his flowers, 
The next they are forgot; 
He eateth of his rarest fruits, 
As though he ate them not. 
“It is not with the poor man so,— 
He knows each inch of ground, 
And every single plant and flower 
That grows within its bound. 
“Here he, the poor man, sees his crop, 
And a thankful man is he, 
For he thinks all through the winter 
How rich his board will be; 
“And how his merry little ones 
Beside the fire will stand, 
Each with a large potato 
In a round and rosy hand. 
“Yes, in the poor man’s garden grow 
Far more than fruits and flowers; 
Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind 
And joy for weary hours.” 
How it would accelerate the planting of trees if they could be so re- 
garded by all who can plant as they were by that most ardent of tree lov- 
ers, and the horticulturist’s best friend, W. C. Bryant, who voiced his love 
and adoration in that famous invocation, of which I can give but a few 
lines! 
“Father, thy hand hath reared these venerable columns; thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof; 
Thou didst look upon the naked ground and forthwith rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. 
They in thy sun 
Budded and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches; till at last they stood 
As now they stand, massy, tall and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 
Communion with his Maker.” 
One stanza I must quote from this same poet’s ‘Planting of the Apple 
Tree.” There is in it a suggestion of the parental relation between the 
planter and his tree that must touch a responsive chord in the breast of 
every true horticulturist. 
“Come, let us plant the apple tree! 
Clear the tough green sward with the spade; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mold with kindly care, 
And press it o’er them tenderly, 
As round the sleeping infant’s feet 
We softly fold the cradle-sheet. 
So plant we the apple tree.” 
This reference to the apple recalls the following to mind, by Mary 
Hewitt: 
“Let them sing of the bright red gold, 
Let them sing of silver fair, 
