Arbor Day Leaves | Page 6

conduct. Nothing could be more
appropriate, especially for the indoor portion of the Arbor Day
exercises, than to have this poem, or portions of it, read by some pupil
in full sympathy with its spirit, or by some class in concert.
FOREST HYMN.
The groves were God's first temples, ere man learned To hew the shaft
and lay the architrave And spread the roof above them, ere he framed
The lofty vault to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the
darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered
to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplications. For his simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences Which from the stilly twilight of
the place And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled
their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that
swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him and bowed His
spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty.
Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient
sanctuaries and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs That our
frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this
ancient wood, Offer one hymn, thrice happy if it find Acceptance in
His ear.
--BRYANT.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
We can hardly see or think of trees without being reminded of Mr.
Lowell, whose death during the last year was so great a loss. He was
eminently a lover of trees, and they were the inspiration of some of his
best prose and poetry. This love of trees led him to call his pleasant
place of residence, in Cambridge, "Elmwood." In making up our
selections for reading or recitation on Arbor Day, the writings of no one
have been turned to more often, probably, than those of Mr. Lowell,

and it will be very proper if we make this year's observance
distinguished by the abundance of our extracts from his various works.
We may well also plant memorial trees in honor of him. No one is
more worthy of such honor, and we can hardly do any better thing than
to plant trees which shall bear his name and remind us hereafter of his
noble words and noble life. And no memorial of him would be more
appropriate or more accordant with his own feelings than a growing
tree. This is abundantly shown by the following letter, written only a
few years ago, when it was proposed in one of our schools, to plant on
Arbor Day, a tree in his memory.
"I can think of no more pleasant way of being remembered than by the
planting of a tree. Like whatever things are perennially good, it will be
growing while we are sleeping, and will survive us to make others
happier. Birds will rest in it and fly thence with messages of good cheer.
I should be glad to think that any word or deed of mine could be such a
perennial presence of beauty, or show so benign a destiny."
[Illustration]
THE OAK.
What gnarled stretch, what depth of shade, is his? There needs no
crown to mark the forest's king; How in his leaves outshines full
summer's bliss! Sun, storm, rain, dew, to him their tribute bring, Which
he, with such benignant royalty Accepts, as overpayeth what is lent; All
nature seems his vassal proud to be, And cunning only for his
ornament.
How towers he, too, amid the billowed snows, An unquelled exile from
the summer's throne, Whose plain, uncintured front more kingly shows,
Now that the obscuring courtier leaves are flown. His boughs make
music of the winter air, Jewelled with sleet, like some cathedral front
Where clinging snow-flakes with quaint art repair The dents and
furrows of Time's envious brunt.
How doth his patient strength the rude March wind Persuade to seem
glad breaths of summer breeze, And win the soil that fain would be

unkind, To swell his revenues with proud increase! He is the gem; and
all the landscape wide (So doth his grandeur isolate the sense) Seems
but the setting, worthless all beside, An empty socket, were he fallen
thence.
So, from oft converse with life's wintry gales, Should man learn how to
clasp with tougher roots The inspiring earth;--how otherwise avails The
leaf-creating sap that sunward shoots? So every year that falls with
noiseless flake Should fill old scars up on the stormward side, And
make hoar age revered for age's sake, Not for traditions of youth's leafy
pride.
So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate, True hearts compel the sap
of sturdier growth, So between earth and heaven stand simply great,
That these shall seem but their attendants both; For nature's forces, with
obedient zeal Wait