'WAS one of those soft, sunny days This winter oft hath known, When Autumn lingers in the sky, Though long her tints have flown; That we on yonder verdant hill, With giant timber crowned, Stood, where at last a noble tree Lay prostrate on the ground.
For one, who oft in childhood's years Beneath its shadow played, The aged woodman, grey and worn, A simple boon had prayed,— That ere he died, his hand might plant Another sapling there, And that his master's little ones With him the task might share.
Sooth, 'twas a lovely sight to see Those two fair children stand, And hold, with conscious pride, the tree, Each in its little hand; While at their feet the grey-haired man, Almost as happy then, Threw in the fresh-turned earth, and felt For that hour young again.
But deep the moral nature points On all the things of time; Sweet babes! ye scarce can hope to see That sapling in its prime. Yet, when the light of childhood shone Upon that old man's brow, The ancient trees around him waved As vast and proud as now.
His task is done; the last green turf Around the tree is pressed, And on his work the aged man Gazes with swelling breast;— "There firm and straight it stands, my hand Can do no more, I trow; God's blessing now, His sun and rain, Alone can make it grow.
"And thou, fair boy, my master's son! Oh, may'st thou live to see That little sapling thou hast held A brave and shadowy tree! And should thy days be spared like mine, Till thou art old and grey, Forget not thou the aged man Who planted it to-day."
Fear not, old friend; a scene like this Sinks deep in childhood's heart, And lingers 'mid the memories That never can depart. If he is spared, long after days May all forgotten be, But, blent with childhood's brightest dreams, He will remember thee.
WAS one of those soft, sunny days
WAS one of those soft, sunny days