THE OAK-TREE. aS 
The boy that saw the acorn fall, 
He feeble grew and grey ; 
But the Oak was still a thriving tree, 
And strengthened every day! 
Four centuries grows the Oak-Tree, 
Nor doth its verdure fail ; 
Its heart is like the iron-wood, 
Its bark like plated mail. 
Now, cut us down the Oak-Tree, 
The monarch of the wood; 
And of its timbers stout and strong E 
We'll build a vessel good! 
The Oak-Tree of the forest 
Both east and west shall fly; 
And the blessings of a thousand lands 
Upon our ship shall le! 
For she shall not be a man of war, 
Nor a pirate shall she be ;— 
But a noble, Christian merchant-ship, 
To sail upon the sea. 
