THE PLEA OF THE CITY ELM 



By MARIAN MEAD, Chicago, III. 



I ONG years, a watchman of the woods, 1 grew; 



The sanctuary of a thousand birds. 

 Sweetly the cardinal whittled, flashing bright, 

 Amid my springtide leafage; from my crtmn 

 The thrush at morn and eve breathed heavenly prayers; 

 The merry robin chose me for his nest, 

 And w : arred with barking squirrels for his rights. 



Tin. n came a day of ruin. Right and left, 

 1 lie spicy woodland smoked; my comrades lay 



l're\ in the axe. The busy hands of man 



Built in our ancient realm a human home. 



1 only Kit, \\itli mutilated roots, 



And crippled branches, -trove to bear niy-elf 

 \- \\ortliy warrior of the ancient world. 



I sheltered with im hou.uhx this human brood; 

 The children laughed to i,ee the squirrels race 

 A lout; my rugged trunk; still, in the sprint;. 

 1 he piping oriole glanced from twig to twig, 

 And painted bluejays cheered the winter hours. 

 How grateful wa- my shadowy green in heat ! 

 And all the year beneath the sun and moon 

 My boughs drank in the common fainting air, 

 That, by the secret power vouchsafed to me, 

 1 breathe back ever to refresh the world. 

 Purified, and with healing in its win-- 

 But now, a weary state is mine. A swarm 

 Of smoking roofs surround me; noxious air- 

 Arise from every side; my roots are pent 

 In case of stone, and no enriching soil 

 Is given to feed them; so.rching winds and dn-t, 

 Through the long summer days, my tender leaves 

 Shrivel and clog; and bring with them a blight 

 That kills off branch on branch. Even the weight 

 Of burdensome dead wood they spare me not; 

 And yearly weaker I, and stronger death. 



Man sways my fate, for men my life is given 



Well have I served, and many years might ser\e 



Must I thus pass, neglected, from my post ~' 



No longer look upon the silent stars, 



And breathe the joyful sunshine, gathering thence 



Strength for my sweeping limbs, my traceries 



Of winter twigs, my burst of springtide bloom. 



The summer glory of my towering green, 



My shadowy cool, my power to bless mankind?' 



O, Master, generations yet to corne, 

 Shall they enjoy the wholesome good I give? 

 Oh, hear this timely plea, and help the sum 

 Of long years' growth ; help noble beauty live ! 



