Woodman, Spare That Tree.

Woodman, Spare That Tree.
378.1

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 famillar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o’er land and and sea,
And would’st thou hack it do down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke.
Cut not Its earth bound ties;
O spare that aged oak,
Now towering to he skies!

When but an idle boy
I sought its grateful shade.
In all their gushing joy,
Here, too, iny sisters played.
My mother kissed me here:
My father pressed my hand-
Forgive this foolish tear.
But let that old oak stand!

My heartstrings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild bird sing.
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree, the storm still brave,
And woodman, leave the spot;
While I’ve a hand to save,
Thy ax shall harın it not.