A STUDY OF OUR FORESTS. 59 



A song for the palm — the pine, 



And for every tree that grows, 



From the desolate zone of snows 

 To the zone of the burning line ; 

 Hurrah ! for the warders proud 



Of the mountainside and the vale. 

 That challenge the thundercloud 



And buffet the stormy gale. 



A song for the forest, aisled. 



With its Gothic roof sublime, 



The solemn temple of Time, 

 "Where man becometh a child. 

 As he listens the anthem-roll 



Of the voiceful winds that call. 

 In the solitude of his soul. 



On the name of the All-in-All. 



So long as the rivers flow, 



So long as the mountains rise. 



May the foliage drinli of the skies 

 And shelter the flowers below ; 

 Hurrah ! for the beautiful trees ! 



Hurrah ! for the forest grand. 

 The pride of His centuries, ^ 



The Garden of God's own hand. 



— W. H. Vknable. 



WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. 



Woodman, spare that tree ! 



Touch not a single bough ! 

 In youth it sheltered me. 



And I'll protect it now. 

 'Twas my forefather's hand 



That placed it near his cot; 

 There, woodman, let it stand — 



Thy axe shall harm it not ! 



That old familiar tree. 



Whose glory and renown 

 Are spread o'er land and sea — 



And wouldst thou hew it down? 

 Woodman, forbear thy stroke! 



Cut not its earth-bound ties; 

 Oh, spare that aged oak, 



Now towering to the skies! 



