Arbor Day

Trees

3/19/2022

Picture of a tree with green leaves and green grass around its trunk.

Trees

Trees just stand around all day,
     and sun themselves and rest.
They never walk or run away,
     and surely that is best.
For otherwise, how would a
     squirrel or robin find its nest?

by Aileen Fisher

Aileen Lucia Fisher was born on 9 September 1906 in Iron River, Michigan, United States of America. She became a writer of poetry, children’s books, biographies, plays, and magazine articles. Aileen Lucia Fisher passed on at 96 years of age on 2 December 2002 in Boulder, Colorado, United States of America.

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What Do We Plant?

7/4/2021

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Picture of a tree from below, showing the trunk, branches, and green leaves, with a clear blue sky visible through the branches and leaves.

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.

by Henry Abbey

Henry Lamont Abbey was born on 11 July 1842 in Rondout, New York, United States of America. He was married to Mary Louise Dubois on 26 December 1865. He became a newspaper editor, a banker, and a poet. His collections of poetry books include “May Dreams” (1862), “Ralph and Other Poems” (1866), “Stories in Verse” (1869), “Ballads of Good Deeds” (1872), “Poems by Henry Abbey” (1879), and “The City of Success and Other Poems” (1883). Henry Lamont Abbey passed on at 68 years of age on 7 June 1911 in Tenafly, New Jersey, United States of America.

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The Secrets of a Tree

8/26/2020

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The Secrets of a Tree

Because they are primeval, because they outlive us, because they are fixed, trees seem to emanate a sense of permanence. And though rooted in earth, they seem to touch the sky. For these reasons it is natural to feel we might learn wisdom from them, to haunt about them with the idea that if we could only read their silent riddle rightly we should learn some secret vital to our own lives; or even, more specifically, some secret vital to our real, our lasting and spiritual existence.

by Kim Taplin

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Our Tree

3/2/2020

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Our Tree

When spring comes round, our apple tree is very full of flowers,
     And when a bird sits on a branch the petals fall in showers.
When summer comes round, our apple tree is very full of green,
     And everywhere you look in it there is a leafy screen.
When autumn comes round, our apple tree is full of things to eat
     And apples hang from every branch to tumble at our feet.
When winter comes round, our apple tree is full of snow and ice,
     And rabbits come to visit it . . . We think our tree is nice.

by Marchette Chute

Marchette Gaylord Chute was born on 16 August 1909 in Wayzata, Minnesota, United States of America. She became a biographer, a fiction writer, and a poet. Marchette Gaylord Chute passed on at 84 years of age on 6 May 1994 in Montclair, New Jersey, United States of America.

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Trees

2/14/2020

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Trees

Trees are the kindest things I know
     They do no harm, they simply grow
And spread a shade for sleepy cows
     And gather birds among their boughs.

Trees give us fruit in leaves above,
     And wood to make our houses of.
And in the Spring grow buds of green.
     Trees are the kindest things I know.

by Author Unknown

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Arbor Day Hymn

2/13/2020

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Arbor Day Hymn

Joy for the sturdy trees,
Fanned by each fragrant breeze,
     Lovely they stand!
The songbirds o’er them trill;
They shade each tinkling rill*;
They crown each swelling hill;
     Lowly or grand.

Plant them by stream and way,
Plant them where the children play
     And toilers rest.
In every verdant vale,
On every sunny swale -
Whether to grow or fail,
     God knoweth best.

Select the strong, the fair;
Plant them with earnest care;
     No toil is vain.
Plant in a fitter place,
Where, like a lovely face,
Let in some sweeter grace,
     Change may prove gain.

God will his blessing send,
All things on him depend,
     His loving care
Clings to his leaf and flower,
Like ivy to its tower,
His presence and his power
     Are everywhere.

by Samuel F. Smith, author of “My Country Tis of Thee” (originally known by the title, “America” (1831)), and sung to the same tune

*rill: a small stream of water or a shallow erosion channel cut by the erosive action of water as it runs down a hillside or slope.

Samuel Francis Smith was born on 21 October 1808 in Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America. He became a Baptist minister, a journalist, and a writer. Samuel Francis Smith passed on at 87 years of age on 16 November 1895 in Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America.

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Forest Song

2/11/2020

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Forest Song

A song for the beautiful trees!
     A song for the forest grand,
The Garden of God’s own hand,
     The pride of His centuries.
Hurrah! for the kingly oak,
     For the maple, the sylvan queen,
For the lords of the emerald cloak,
     For the ladies in golden green.

For the beautiful trees a song!
     The peers of a glorious realm,
The linden, the ash, and the elm,
     The poplar stately and strong, -
For the birch and the hemlock trim,
     For the hickory staunch at core,
For the locust thorny and grim,
     For the silvery sycamore.

A song for the palm, - the pine,
     And for every tree that grows,
From the desolate zone of snows
     To the zone of the burning line;
Hurrah! for the warders proud
     Of the mountainside and the vale,
That challenge the thunder-cloud
     And buffet the stormy gale.

A song for the forest, aisled,
     With its Gothic roof sublime,
The solemn temple of Time,
     Where man becometh a child,
As he listens the anthem-roll
     Of the voiceful winds that call,
In the solitude of his soul,
     On the name of the All-in-All.

So long as the rivers flow,
     So long as the mountains rise,
May the foliage drink of the skies;
     And shelter the flowers below;
Hurrah! for the beautiful trees!
     Hurrah! for the forest grand,
The pride of His centuries,
     The Garden of God’s own hand.

by William Henry Venable (19 April 1882): as read at the first meeting of the American Forestry Congress, Music Hall, Cincinnati, Ohio, United States of America

William Henry Venable was born on 29 April 1836 in Waynesville, Warren County, Ohio, United States of America. He became a writer and an English teacher. William Henry Venable passed on at about 84 years of age in 1920 in Cincinnati, Hamilton County, Ohio, United States of America.

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Good Timber

12/23/2019

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Good Timber

The tree that never had to fight
     For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
     And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
     But lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil
     To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share
     Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man
     But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow with ease,
     The stronger wind, the stronger trees,
The further sky, the greater length,
     The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
     In trees and men good timbers grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth
     We find the patriarchs of both.
And they hold counsel with the stars
     Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and much of strife.
     This is the common law of life.

by Douglas Malloch

Douglas Malloch, Senior was born on 5 May 1877 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America. He grew up in the midst of logging camps, sawmills, and lumber yards. He became enamored with writing poems and stories about lumbering scenes and eventually became known as the ‘Lumbermen’s Poet.’ He wrote his first poem at 10 years of age, which was published in the “Detroit News.” After leaving school, he took a job on the editorial staff at the “Muskegon Chronicle,” where he remained for 13 years, becoming a reporter and feature writer for the paper. After leaving the “Muskegon Chronicle,” he joined the staff of the “American Lumberman” in 1903 as a syndicated columnist. Mr. Malloch soon became a popular and nationally renowned humorist, lecturer, and radio personality. His column was often written in the form of a poem, and eventually the poems were collected into a series of books with “In Forest Land” (1906) being his first published work and a national best seller. Douglas Malloch, Senior passed on at 61 years of age on 2 July 1938 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America.

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Little by Little

7/3/2019

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Little by Little

“Little by little,” an acorn said,
     As it slowly sank in its mossy bed,
“I am improving every day,
     Hidden deep in the earth away.”

Little by little it sipped the dew,
     Little by little each day it grew;
Downward it sent out a threadlike root,
     Up in the air sprang a tiny shoot.

Day after day and year after year
     Little by little the leaves appear;
And the slender branches spread far and wide
     Till the mighty oak is the forest’s pride.

by Author Unknown

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The Heart of the Tree

6/29/2019

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The Heart of the Tree

What does he plant who plants a tree?
     He plants the friend of sun and sky;
He plants the flag of breezes free,
     The shaft of beauty, towering high;
He plants a home to heaven anigh;
     For song and mother croon of bird
In hushed and happy twilight heard -
     The treble of heaven’s harmony -
These things he plants who plants a tree.

What does he plant who plants a tree?
     He plants cool shade and tender rain.
And seed and bud of days to be,
     And years that fade and flush again;
He plants the glory of the plain;
     He plants the forest’s heritage -
The harvest of a coming age;
     The joys that unborn eyes shall see -
These things he plants who plants a tree.

What does he plant who plants a tree?
     He plants in sap and leaf and wood,
In love of home and loyalty
     And far cast thought of civic good -
His blessing on the neighborhood
     Who in the hollow of his hand
Holds all the growth of all our land -
     A nation’s growth from sea to sea
Stir in his heart who plants a tree.

by Author Unknown

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Trees

6/23/2019

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Trees

The Oak is called the king of trees,
     The Aspen quivers in the breeze,
The Poplar grows up straight and tall,
     The Peach tree spreads along the wall,
The Sycamore gives pleasant shade,
     The Willow droops in watery glade,
The Fir tree useful in timber gives,
     The Beech amid the forest lives.

by Sara Coleridge Coleridge: “Pretty Lessons in Verse for Good Children: With Some Lessons in Latin in Easy Rhyme” (1853), page 12

Sara Coleridge Coleridge was born on 23 November 1802 in Keswick, Cumberland, England, as a daughter of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 - 1834) and Sara Fricker Coleridge (1770 - 1845). She was married in September 1829 to her cousin, Henry Nelson Coleridge. She became a writer, an editor, a poet, and a translator. Sara Coleridge Coleridge passed on at 49 years of age on 3 May 1852 in London, England.

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The Oak Tree

6/21/2019

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The Oak Tree

A mighty wind blew night and day,
     It stole the oak tree’s leaves away,
Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark,
     Until the oak was tired and stark.

But still the oak tree held its ground,
     While other trees fell all around.
The weary wind gave up and spoke,
     “How can you still be standing, Oak?”

The oak tree said, “I know that you
     Can break each branch of mine in two,
Carry every leaf away,
     Shake my limbs, and make me sway.

But I have roots stretched in the earth,
     Growing stronger since my birth,
You’ll never touch them, for you see,
     They are the deepest part of me.

Until today, I wasn’t sure
     Of just how much I could endure,
But now I’ve found, with thanks to you,
     I’m stronger than I ever knew.”

by Johnny Ray Ryder, Junior

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Our Tree

1/15/2019

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Our Tree

Into the sunbeams’ keeping
     The mellow sunbeams bright.
We give our tree, to nourished be,
     By the warm, life-giving light.

The gentle breezes, tender,
     That rustle the tree-tops high,
Will whisper to it, how stately
     It may be, in the bye-and-bye.

And the rain and the dew will moisten
     And freshen the rootlets light.
And we shall soon see in our spreading tree,
     A rare and beauteous sight.

And the birds will seek its shelter,
     How glad we then shall be,
That on Arbor Day in the joyous May,
     We planted a fair young tree.

Let us then rejoice and sing,
     That in the gladsome spring,
The springtime of our lives and of the year,
     We have marked again the day
     Which we welcome every May,
And have planted thus a tender sapling here.

by Jennie D. Moore

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Plant a Tree

8/30/2018

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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.

by Lucy Larcom

Lucy Larcom was born on 5 March 1824 in Beverly, Massachusetts, United States of America. She became a schoolteacher, a writer, and a poet. Lucy Larcom passed on at 69 years of age on 17 April 1893 in Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America.

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Arbor Day

8/28/2018

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Arbor Day

Arbor Day, Arbor Day,
See, the fields are fresh and green;
All is bright cheerful sight,
     After Winter’s night.
Birds are flying in the air,
All we see is fresh and fair;
Bowers green, now are seen,
     Flowers peep between.

Swaying trees, swaying trees,
Rocking gently in the breeze,
Dressed so gay, fine array,
     For this Arbor Day
While we plant our tree so dear,
All the others list to hear,
How we sing, in the spring,
     And our voices ring.

Here we stand, here we stand,
Round the tree, a royal band;
Music floats, cheering notes,
     Sweetly, gaily floats.
March along with heads so high,
While our tree is standing nigh;
Step away, light and gay,
     On this Arbor Day.

by Author Unknown: Sung to the tune of “Lightly Row”

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