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AMERICAN FORESTRY 



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A VOICE 



BY LEANDER GOETZ 



I am only a voice and there's no one to 

 hear; 

 The joys of my childhood departed 

 When the men with the axes and wagons 

 came near 

 And left me alone broken-hearted. 



My brothers and I and my sisters were 

 nine; 

 We lived on this hillside together; 

 We whispered the tongue of our great 

 mother. Pine, 

 And were happy no matter the weather. 



My brothers and sisters were beautiful 

 trees, 



The fairest in all the sweet wild wood; 

 But I am a cripple, as every one sees, 



From a blow in my earliest childhood. 



I do not lament the big scar that was left 

 When the wild storm of winter had riven 

 me, 

 But alas! when I think how I am bereft 

 Of the playmates the Tree-god had given 

 me! 



We often would look at the beautiful sky 

 The sun and the clouds said, "We love 



you," 

 The stars whispered low, as they softly 



drew nigh, 



"Sleep on; we are watching above you." 



The juncos hopped near with the break of 

 the day, 

 And the chickadees twittered soon after; 

 The chipmunks and squirrels dashed by 

 in their play 

 And the crows filled the woods with their 

 laughter. 



The fireflies came with their lamps glow- 

 ing bright, 



When the sweet summer twilight was 

 falling, 



And the crickets and katydids chirped 

 through the night 

 And we heard the lone whippoorwill 

 calling. 



We never were lonely; we knew naught 

 of care, 

 No blessing of earth ever missed us; 

 For were the days stormy, or were the 

 days fair, 

 The raindrops or sunbeams had kissed us. 



My comrades are gone, and it's lonely to be 



On this desolate hillside without them, 



And the winds from the wood meet the 



winds from the sea, 



And they whisper all night long about 



them. 



For oh! they were snatched from their 

 mother's embrace 

 When the snowflakes around us were 

 flying, 

 And their forms that were perfect in beauty 

 and grace, 

 Were dragged to the market place, dying. 



For the worship of Christ they have suf- 

 fered, I'm told, 

 For the Christ-Child whose birthday is 

 cherished; 

 But I know it was more for the worship 

 of gold, 

 That my brothers, my sisters, all perished. 



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