2 8 ARDOR DA V MANUAL. 



Blow strong west wind with hopeful vigor fraught, 

 But spare our pillars grand, our turrets high, 

 And send thy vivifying aid to live, and grow, 

 Down where our class tree's buried life-germs lie. 

 And sunny skies smile after showers have kissed 

 Dust from the leaflets' trembling form away, 

 And keep our tree from blight and death, to greet 

 The dawn of each returning Arbor Da) r . 



WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. 



WOODMAN, spare that tree ! 

 Touch not a single bow ! 

 In youth it sheltered me, 



And I'll protect it now. 

 'T was my forefather's hand 



That placed it near his cot 

 There, woodman, let it stand ; 

 Thy ax shall harm it not ! 



That old familiar tree, 



Whose glory and renown 

 Are spread o'er land and sea, 



And wouldst thou hack it down ? 

 Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! 



Cut not its earth-bound ties; 

 O, spare that aged oak, 



Now towering to the skies ! 



When but an idle boy 



I sought its grateful shade ; 

 In all their gushing joy, 



Here, too, my sisters played. 

 My mother kissed me here ; 



My father pressed my hand 

 Forgive the foolish tear; 



But let that old oak stand. 



My heart-strings round thee cling, 



Close as thy bark, old friend ; 

 Here shall the wild-bird sing, 



And still thy branches bend. 

 Old tree ! the storm still brave ! 



And, woodman, leave the spot ; 

 While I've a hand to save, 



Thy ax shall harm it not. 



GEORGE P. MORRIS. 



