Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 424

Like to us in low beginning,
Children of the patient earth;
Born, like us, to rise on high,
Ever nearer to the sky,
And, like us, by slow advances from the minute of your birth.

'And, like mortals, ye have uses—
Uses each his own:
Each his gift, and each his beauty,
Not to other known.
Thou, O oak, the strong ship-builder,
For thy country's good,
Givest up thy noble life,
Like a patriot in the strife,
Givest up thy heart of timber, as he poureth out his blood.

'Thou, O poplar, tall and taper,
Reachest up on high;
Like a preacher pointing upward—
Upward to the sky.
Thou, O holly, with thy berries,
Gleaming redly bright,
Comest, like a pleasant friend,
When the dying year hath end,
Comest to the Christmas party, round the ruddy fire-light.

'Thou, O yew, with sombre branches,
And dark-veilèd head—
Like a monk within the church-yard,
When the prayers are said,
Standing by the newly-buried
In the depth of thought—
Tellest, with a solemn grace,
Of the earthly dwelling-place,
Of the soul to live for ever—of the body come to nought,

'Thou, O cedar, storm-enduring,
Bent with years, and old,
Standest with thy broad-eaved branches,
Shadowing o'er the mould;
Shadowing o'er the tender saplings,
Like a patriarch mild,
When he lifts his hoary head,
And his hands a blessing shed,
On the little ones around him—on the children of his child.

'And the light, smooth-barkèd hazel,
And the dusky sloe,
Are the poor men of the forest—
Are the weak and low.
Yet unto the poor is given
Power the earth to bless;
And the sloe's small fruit of down,
And the hazel's clusters brown,
Are the tribute they can offer—are their mite of usefulness.

'When the awful words were spoken,
"It is finishèd!"—
When the all-loving heart was broken,
Bowed the patient head;
When the earth grew dark as midnight
In her solemn awe—
Then the forest-branches all
Bent, with reverential fall—
Bent, as bent the Jewish foreheads at the giving of the law.

'But one tree was in the forest
That refused to bow;
Then a sudden blast came o'er it,
And a whisper low
Made the leaves and branches quiver—
Shook the guilty tree;
And the voice was: "Tremble ever
To eternity:
Be a lesson from thee read—
He that boweth not his head,
And obeyeth not his Maker, let him fear eternally!"

'So thou standest ever shaking,
Ever quivering with fear,
For the voice is still upon thee,
And the whisper near.
Like the guilty, conscience-haunted;
And the name for thee
Is, "The tree of many thoughts"—
Is, "The tree of many doubts;"
And thy leaves are thoughts and doubtings—for thou art the sinner's tree.

'Thou, O chestnut, richly branched,
Standest in thy might,
Rising like a leafy tower
In the summer light.
And thy branches are fruit-laden,
Waving bold and free;
And the beams upon thee shed
Are like blessings on thy head:
Thou art strong, and fair, and fruitful—for thou art the good man's tree.

'So, farewell, great forest-teachers:
There is a spirit dwells