165
PLANTING THE TREE.
DECEMBER 3, 1842.
'
WAS one of those soft, sunny days
This winter oft hath known,
When Autumn lingers in the sky,
Though long her tints have flown;
That we on yonder verdant hill,
With giant timber crowned,
Stood, where at last a noble tree
Lay prostrate on the ground.
WAS one of those soft, sunny daysThis winter oft hath known,
When Autumn lingers in the sky,
Though long her tints have flown;
That we on yonder verdant hill,
With giant timber crowned,
Stood, where at last a noble tree
Lay prostrate on the ground.
For one, who oft in childhood's years
Beneath its shadow played,
The aged woodman, grey and worn,
A simple boon had prayed,—
That ere he died, his hand might plant
Another sapling there,
And that his master's little ones
With him the task might share.
Beneath its shadow played,
The aged woodman, grey and worn,
A simple boon had prayed,—
That ere he died, his hand might plant
Another sapling there,
And that his master's little ones
With him the task might share.
Sooth, 'twas a lovely sight to see
Those two fair children stand,
And hold, with conscious pride, the tree,
Each in its little hand;
Those two fair children stand,
And hold, with conscious pride, the tree,
Each in its little hand;
