164 ARBOR DAT. 



For fifteen score of full told years 



He has borne his leafy prime, 

 Yet he holds them well, and lives to tell 



His tale of olden time." 



White Oak : Let us all repeat the lines of N. S. Dodge 

 in praise of the Queen of the Forest. (All unite.) 



" Then hail to the elm, the green-topped elm, 



And long may his branches wave, 

 For a relic is he, the gnarled old tree, 

 Of the times of the good and brave." 



White Oak: We will have another song about the 

 birds, or any other subject. (Song.) 



White Oak: We have heard nothing from the 

 Willows. 



Willow (Marion) : I live near the water, and my wood 

 is made into the strangest things artificial limbs, tooth- 

 picks, ball clubs, and gunpowder. Some of us are called 

 "Pussy Willows." Elizabeth Allen has written -this 

 lovely poem to my sister, the Weeping Willow, of Eu- 

 rope, who has been for years mourning something to us 

 unknown : 



" O, Willow, why forever weep, 



As one who mourns an endless wrong, 

 What hidden woe can lie so deep? 



What utter grief can last so long ? 

 Mourn on forever, unconsoled, 



And keep your secret, faithful tree, 

 No heart in all the world can hold 

 A sweeter grace than constancy." 



