THE TREE

The tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown: "Shall I take them away?" said the frost, sweeping down. "No, dear; leave them alone

Till blossoms here have grown,"

Prayed the tree, while it trembled from rootlet to crown.

The tree bore its blossoms, and all the birds sung:
"Shall I take them away?" said the wind, as it swung.
"No, dear; leave them alone

Till berries here have grown,"
Said the tree, while its leaflets all quivering hung.

The tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow:
Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries or no?"
"Yes, dear, all thou canst see;

Take them; all are for thee,"

Said the tree, while it bent its laden boughs low.

Björnstjerne Björnson

PLANT A TREE

He who plants a tree

Plants a hope.

Rootlets up through fibers blindly grope;

Leaves unfold into horizons free.

So man's life must climb

From the clods of time

Unto heavens sublime.

Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree,
What the glory of thy boughs shall be?

He who plants a tree

Plants a joy;

Plants a comfort that will never cloy;

Every day a fresh reality,

Beautiful and strong,

To whose shelter throng

Creatures blithe with song.

If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree,
Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee!

He who plants a tree,

He plants peace.

Under its green curtains jargons cease.
Leaf and zephyr murmur soothingly;
Shadows soft with sleep

Down tired eyelids creep,

Balm of slumber deep.

Never hast thou dreamed, thou blessed tree,
Of the benediction thou shalt be.

He who plants a tree,—
He plants youth;

Vigor won for centuries in sooth;
Life of time, that hints eternity!

Boughs their strength uprear;
New shoots, every year

On old growths appear;

Thou shalt teach the ages, sturdy tree,
Youth of soul is immortality.

He who plants a tree,-
He plants love;

Tents of coolness spreading out above
Wayfarers, he may not live to see.
Gifts that grow are best;

Hands that bless are blest;

Plant! life does the rest!

Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree,

And his work its own reward shall be.

Lucy Larcom

"WHAT DO WE PLANT?"

What do we plant when we plant the tree?
We plant the ship, which will cross the sea.
We plant the mast to carry the sails;
We plant the planks to withstand the gales-
The keel, the keelson, the beam, the knee;
We plant the ship when we plant the tree.

What do we plant when we plant the tree?
We plant the houses for you and me.
We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors,
We plant the studding, the lath, the doors,
The beams and siding, all parts that be;
We plant the house when we plant the tree.

What do we plant when we plant the tree?
A thousand things that we daily see;
We plant the spire that out-towers the crag,
We plant the staff for our country's flag,
We plant the shade, from the hot sun free;
We plant all these when we plant the tree.

Henry Abbey

THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE

Come, let us plant the apple-tree.

Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
Wide let its hollow bed be made;

There gently lay the roots, and there
Sift the dark mould with kindly care,
And press it o'er them tenderly,
As, round the sleeping infant's feet,
We softly fold the cradle-sheet;
So plant we the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?

Buds, which the breath of summer days.

Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;

Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest;

We plant, upon the sunny lea,

A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs To load the May-wind's restless wings, When, from the orchard-row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors; A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, We plant with the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,
And redden in the August noon,
And drop, when gentle airs come by,
That fan the blue September sky,

While children come, with cries of glee,
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass,
At the foot of the apple-tree.

And when, above this apple-tree,

The winter stars are quivering bright,
And winds go howling through the night,
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,
Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth,

And guests in prouder homes shall see,

Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine And golden orange of the line,

The fruit of the apple-tree.

The fruitage of this apple-tree Winds and our flag of stripe and star Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, Where men shall wonder at the view, And ask in what fair groves they grew; And sojourners beyond the sea Shall think of childhood's careless day, And long, long hours of summer play, In the shade of the apple-tree.

Each year shall give this apple-tree
A broader flush of roseate bloom,
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom,
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower,
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower.
The years shall come and pass, but we
Shall hear no longer, where we lie,
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh,
In the boughs of the apple-tree.

And time shall waste this apple-tree.
Oh, when its agèd branches throw
Thin shadows on the ground below,
Shall fraud and force and iron will
Oppress the weak and helpless still?
What shall the tasks of mercy be,
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears
Of those who live when length of
years
Is wasting this little apple-tree?

"Who planted this old apple-tree?" The children of that distant day Thus to some agèd man shall say;