THE MOUNTAIN FRINGE. 



the voices of the woods ! What grander creation is there among 

 Nature's living things than the great forest-trees ? 



Father, thy hand 

 Hath reared these venerable columns, thou 

 Didst weave this verdant roof. 



Grandeur, strength, and grace, 

 Are here to speak of thee. 



This mighty oak — not a prince 

 In all that proud land beyond the deep, 

 E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 

 Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 

 Thy hand has graced him. — Bryant. 



How they typify the procession of human life in their grand 

 march, generation after generation, down the countless centuries, 

 far antedating man's most venerable historic memory ! 



With men, as with trees, — 



Lo! all grow old and die, — but see again 

 How on the faltering footsteps of decay 

 Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful Youth, 

 In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 

 Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 

 Moulder beneath them. 



Life mocks the idle hate 

 Of his arch enemy Death — yea, seats himself 

 Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre, 

 And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 

 Makes his own nourishment. — Bryant. 



The great trees ! what an emblem are they of strength and 

 stability in the compact, slowly nurtured, manly character, rooted 

 in eternal righteousness, and growing upward and expanding out- 

 ward, evermore toward light and heaven. 



