THE WOODS. 21 



feel the mystic charm and moving beauty that 

 inspire his muse : 



" Far eastward and westward the sun-colored lands 



Smile warm as the light on them smiles ; 

 And statelier than temples upbuilded by hands, 

 Tall column by column the sanctuary stands, 

 Of the pine forest's infinite aisles. 



" A temple whose transepts are measured by miles, 



Whose chancel has morning for priest. 

 "Whose floor-work the foot of no spoiler defiles, 

 Whose musical silence no music beguiles, 

 No festival limits its feast." 



In a true sense the forests are sacred. They 

 may well have been " God's first temples." 

 They are not to be wantonly injured nor lightly 

 destroyed. They have come down to us from 

 other generations, and with a reasonable use of 

 their products we are bound in duty to deliver 

 them to our successors. Our oldest oaks and 

 hemlocks were no mere saplings when Colum- 

 bus discovered America. It takes many cen- 

 turies to produce the great trees in our own 

 forests, to anchor them fast by the gnarled and 

 tangled clutch of sturdy rootage, to drape them 

 in bearded lichens till they stand " like Druids 

 of eld," to garnish the bark with mosses and 

 decorate the dead with the finery of elfin fungus 

 and wreaths of living ferns. Long centuries it 



