WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
Woodman, spare that tree, touch not a single bough;
In youth it sheltered me, and I'll protect it now;
'Twas 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 would'st thou back it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke, cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh! 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 this foolish tear, but let the old oak stand.
My heart-strings round thee cling, close as thy bark, old friend;
Here shall the wild birds sing, and still thy branches bend;
Old tree, the storms still brave-and, woodman, leave the spot;
While I've a hand to save, thy ax shall harm it not.