THE HISTORIC TREES OF MASSACHUSETTS 



Words pass as wind, but where great deeds are done 



A power abides transfixed from sire to son; 



The boy feels deeper meanings thrill his ear, 



That tingling through the pulse life-long shall run, 



With sure impulsion to keep honor clear, 



When, pointing down, his father whispers, "Here, 



Here, where we stand, stood he, the purely great, 



Whose soul no siren passion could unsphere, 



Then nameless, now a power and mixed with fate." 



Historic town, thou boldest sacred dust, 



Once known to men as pious, learned, just, 



And one memorial pile that dares to last; 



But Memory greets with reverential kiss 



No spot in all thy circuit sweet as this, 



Touched by that modest glory as it passed, 



O'er which yon elm hath piously displayed 



These hundred years its monumental shade. 



