Arbor Day

Celebrate the Arbor DayWith march and song and cheer,For the season comes to usBut once in every year;Should we not remember itAnd make the mem’ry dearMemories sweet for this May day.

Chorus—Hurrah! Hurrah! The Arbor Day is here:Hurrah! Hurrah! It gladdens every year.So we plant a young tree on blithesome Arbor Day,While we are singing for gladness.

Flow’rs are blooming all around,Are blooming on this day;And the trees with verdure clad,Welcome the month of May,Making earth a garden fairTo hail the Arbor Day,Clothing all nature with gladness.

“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 blessings of the neighborhood,—Who in the hollow of his handHolds all the growth of all our land:A Nation’s growth from sea to seaStirs in his heart who plants a tree.”

Which is the best of all the trees?Answer me, children all, if you please.That for a hundred years has stood,The graceful elm or the stately ash,Or the aspen, whose leaflets shimmer and flash?

Is it the solemn and gloomy pine,With its million needles so sharp and fine?Ah no! The tree that I love best,It buds and blossoms not with the rest;No summer sun on its fruit has smiled,But the ice and snow are around it piled;But still it will bloom and bear fruit for me—My winter bloomer! My Christmas tree!

—Youths’ Companion.

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 plank to withstand the gales;The keel, the keelson, and beam and knee:We plant the ship when we plant the tree.

What do we plant when we plant the tree?We plant the house for you and me.We plant the rafter, 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.

First Child—I love a tree in spring,When the first green leaves come out.And the birds build their nests and carolTheir sweet songs round about.

Second Child—I love a tree in summer,When, in the noon-tide heat.The reapers lie in its shadow,On the greensward, cool and sweet.

Third Child—I love a tree in autumn,When Frost, the painter old,Has touched with his brush its branches,And left them all crimson and gold.

Fourth Child—I love a tree in winter.Mid snow and ice and cloud,Waving its long, bare branchesIn the north wind, wailing loud.

All—Let us plant a tree by the wayside,Plant it with smiles and with tears,A shade for some weary wanderer,A hope for the coming years.

In history we often seeThe record of a noted tree.We’ll now some history pages turnAnd note what trees we there discern:And foremost of this famous bandWe think the Charter Oak should stand.We love to read the story o’er,How Andrus came from England’s shoreAs governor in this new land,And ruled it with a tyrant hand;How, when he came to Hartford townDemanding with a haughty frownThe charter of the people’s rights.All suddenly out went the lights;And, e’er again they reappeared,The charter to their hearts endearedLay safely in this hollow tree.Guard of the people’s liberty.All honor, then, to Wadsworth’s name,Who gave the Charter Oak its fame.

Another very famous treeWas called the Elm of Liberty.Beneath its shade the patriots boldFor tyranny their hatred told.Upon its branches high and freeWas often hung in effigySuch persons as the patriots thoughtOpposed the freedom that they sought.In war time, oft beneath this treeThe people prayed for victory;And when at last the old tree fellThere sadly rang each Boston bell.

In Cambridge there is standing yetA tree we never should forget;For here, equipped with sword and gun,There stood our honored Washington,When of the little patriot bandFor freedom’s cause he took command.Despite its age—three hundred years—Its lofty head it still uprears;Its mighty arms extending wide.It stands our country’s boasted pride.

When, in spite of pride, pomp, and boast,Burgoyne surrendered with his host.And then was brought to AlbanyA prisoner of war to be.In gratitude for his defeat.That day, upon the city streetAn elm was planted, which they sayStill stands in memory of that day.

Within the Quaker City’s realm,There stood the famous Treaty Elm.Here, with its sheltering boughs above.Good William Penn, in peace and loveThe Indians met, and there agreedUpon that treaty which we readWas never broken, though ho oathWas taken—justice guiding both.A monument now marks the groundWhere once this honored tree was found.

Within a city of the dead,Near Bunker Hill, just at the headOf Cotton Mather’s grave, there standsA weeping willow which fond handsBrought from Napoleon’s grave, they say,In St. Helena, far away.

I’ll tell you of a Sycamore,And how two poets’ names it bore;Upon Ohio’s soil it stands,’Twas placed there by the childish handsOf sister poets, and is knownAs Alice and Phoebe Cary’s own.One day, when little girls, they foundA sapling lying on the ground;They planted it with tenderest careBeside this pleasant highway, whereIt grew and thrived and came to beTo all around, the Cary Tree.

In New York City proudly standThirteen monarchs, lofty, grand.Their branches tow’ring toward the sunAre monuments of Hamilton,Who planted them in pride that weHad won our cause and liberty—A tribute, history relates,To the original thirteen states.

We reverence these famous trees.What better monuments than these?How fitting on each Arbor DayThat we a grateful tribute payTo poet, statesman, author, friend.To one whose deeds our hearts commend,As lovingly we plant a treeHeld sacred to his memory;A fresh memorial, as each yearNew life and buds and leaves appear,—A living monumental tree,True type of immortality!

Come now and raise a gladsome song to Mother Nature dear:Again the flowers laugh in the fields, again the birds sing clear:And we who love God’s bright, fair World should let that love appear,On this glad Arbor Day.

Chorus:—Mother Nature, hear our singing;Take the praises we are bringing;May they swell, forever ringing,As on this Arbor Day.

And let us too join hearts in praise of our dear native land.Our Mother Country. she to whom we all pledge heart and hand.A peerless queen she truly is: so may she ever stand.As on this Arbor Day,

Chorus:—Mother Country, hear our singing;Take the praises we are bringing;May they swell, forever ringing,As on this Arbor Day.

And to our Alma Matter, our dear Mother School as well,We sing to show our loyalty, we would her virtues tell:She teaches us the truth of life: we pledge to heed them well,As on this glad Arbor Day. -

Chorus:—Alma Mater, hear our singingTake the praises we are bringing;May they swell, forever ringing,As on this Arbor Day.

Our school we love, our happy land, and Nature’s beauty rare.Three mothers they, and in their weal we each have some true share:So plant we trees, salute the flag, and faith and fealty swear,On this glad Arbor Day.

Chorus:—Mother Nature, hear our singing;Take the praises we are bringing;May they swell, forever ringing,As on this Arbor Day.

Dear little tree that we plant todayWhat will you be when we’re old and gray?“The savings bank of the squirrel and mouse,For robbin and wren an apartment house,The dressing-room of the butterfly’s ball,The locusts and katydid’s concert hall;The school-boy’s ladder in pleasant June,The school-girl’s tent in the July noon.And my leaves shall whisper them merrilyA tale of the children who planted me.”

O, Arbor Day is here at last,Tra, la, la! Tra, la, la!The cold of winter now is past,Tra, la, la, la, la!Now all the trees are green and brightThe flowers are dancing in the light;Birds are singing in the trees,Tra, la, la! Tra, la, la!Boughs are swaying in the breeze,Tra, la, la, la, la!

The skies are clear, the skies are blue,Tra, la, la! Tra, la, la!The trees and flowers are drest anew,Tra, la, la, la, la!Their sweetest songs the birds now trill,And brooks go tumbling down the hill;To the woods now haste away,Tra, la, la! Tra, la, la!This is happy Arbor Day,Tra, la, la, la, la!

We are building for the future;Every loyal youth and ladIn his May-time seed or saplingFounds a dwelling green and glad.Where the song birds of the morningRound their cradle-homes will play.And the rain will store its treasureFor the streams that wear away.

Come, let us plant the apple tree.Cleave the tough greensward with the spade,Wide let its hollow bed be made;There gently lay the roots, and thereSift the dark mould with kindly care,And press it o’er them tenderly,As, round the sleeping infant’s feetWe softly fold the cradle sheet;So plant we the apple tree.

What plant we in this apple tree?Buds, which the breath of summer daysShall lengthen into leafy sprays;Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest;We plant, upon the sunny lea,A shadow for the noontide hour,A shelter from the summer showerWhen we plant the apple tree.

What plant we in this apple tree?Sweets for a hundred flowery springs,To load the May wind’s restless wings,When, from the orchard row, he poursIts fragrance through our open doors;A world of blossoms for the bee,Flowers for the sick girl’s silent room,.For the glad infant sprigs of bloom.We plant with the apple tree.

What plant we in this apple tree?Fruits that shall swell in sunny JuneAnd redden in the August noon,And drop, when, gentle airs come by.That fan the blue September sky.While children come, with cries of glee.And seek them where the fragrant grassBetrays their bed to those who pass,—At the foot of the apple tree.

And when, above this apple tree.The winter stars are quivering brightAnd winds go howling through the night.Girls, whose young eyes o’erlow with mirth.Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth,And guests in prouder homes shall see,Heaped with the grape of Cithra’s vineAnd golden orange of the lime.The fruit of the apple tree.

“ Who planted this old apple tree?”The children of that distant dayThus to some aged man shall say;And, gazing on its mossy stem,The gray-haired man shall answer them:—“A poet of the land was he,Born in the rude but good old times;’Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes.On planting the apple tree.”

Father, Thy handHath reared these venerable columns; ThouDidst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look downUpon the naked earth, and forthwith roseAll these fair ranks of trees. They, in Thy sun,Budded and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze,And shot toward heaven. The century-living crowWhose birth was in their tops, grew old and diedAmong their branches, till, at last, they stood,As they now stand, massy and tall and dark.Fit shrine for humble worshiper to holdCommunion with his Maker. These dim vaults.These winding aisles, of human pomp or prideReport not. No fantastic carvings showThe boast of our vain race to change the formOf Thy fair works. But Thou art here—Thou fill’stThe solitude. Thou art in the soft windsThat run along the summit of these treesIn music; Thou art in the cooler breathThat from the inmost darkness of the placeComes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground,The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with Thee.

Here is continual worship. Nature, here,In the tranquillity that Thou dost love,Enjoys Thy presence. Noiselessly around,From perch to perch, the solitary birdPasses; and yon clear spring, that ’midst its herbs,Wells softly forth and, wondering, steeps the rootsOf half the mighty forest, tells no taleOf all the good it does. Thou hast not leftThyself without a witness, in these shadesOf Thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and graceAre here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak—By whose immovable stem I stand and seemAlmost annihilated—not a princeIn all that proud old world beyond the deep,E’er wore his crown as loftily as heWears the green coronal of leaves with whichThy hand has graced him. Nestled at his rootIs beauty such as blooms not in the glareOf the broad sun. That delicate forest flower.With scented breath and look so like a smile,Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mold,An emanation of the indwelling Life,A visible token of the upholding Love,That are the soul of this wide universe.*********Be it ours to meditateIn these calm shades, Thy milder majesty.And to the beautiful order of Thy worksLearn to conform the order of our lives.

Children have you seen the buddingOf the trees in valleys low?Have you watched it creeping, creeping,Up the mountain, soft and slow?Weaving there a plush-like mantle,Brownish, grayish, reddish green,Changing, changing—daily, hourly,Till it smiles in emerald sheen?

Have you watched the shades so varied,From the graceful little white birch.Faint and tender, to the balsam’sEvergreen, so dark and rich?Have you seen the quaint mosaics,Gracing all the mountain-sides,Where they, mingling’, intertwining.Sway like softest mid-air tides?

Have you seen the autumn frostings.Spread in all the leafage bright,—Frostings of the rarest color.Red and yellow, dark and light?Have you seen the glory paintedOn the mountain, valley, hill.When the landscape, all illumined.Blazes forth his taste and skill?

Have you seen the foliage dropping,Tender cling, as loth to leaveMother-trees that taught them deftlyAll their warp and woof to weave?Have you seen the leafless branchesTossing wildly ’gainst the blue?Have you seen the soft gray beautyOf their wintry garments’ hue?

Have you thought the resurrectionSeen in nature year by yearIs a symbol of our risingIn a higher, holier sphere?Children, ye are buds maturing;Make your autumn rich and grand.That your winter be a passageThrough the gates to Glory-land.

God bless our noble State,And make her doubly great,In progress grand,Nor fear to right the wrong,Protect among the throng.The weak as well as strong.By her command.

Long may her banner bright,Wave in the morning light.And all her laws.Approved by justice stand,—Her sons a manly band.Her daughters hand in hand,The home her cause.

We love the grand old trees,—With the oak, their royal king.And the maple, forest queen,We to her our homage bring.And the elm with stately form,Long withstanding wind and storm,Pine, low whispering to the breeze,O, we love the grand old trees!

We love the grand old trees,—The cedar bright above the snow,The poplar straight and tall,And the willow weeping low.Butternut, and walnut, too,Hickory so staunch and true,Basswood blooming for the bees,O, we love the grand old trees!

We love the grand old trees,—The tulip branching broad and high,The beech with shining robe.And the birch so sweet and shy.Aged chestnuts, fair to see.Holly bright with Christmas glee.Laurel crown for victories.O, we love the grand old trees!

—Journal of Education.

First boy—If we are all to choose and sayWhat trees we’d like to plant to-day,Seems to me none can beHalf so good as a Christmas tree!For surely even a baby knowsThat’s where the nicest candy grows.Candy on a Christmas tree,That's what pleases me!

Second boy—:Planted out, ’twould never bear—But, after all, why should we care?The richest thing is what we bringFrom sugar maples in the spring;So now I’ll set a maple here.For feast and frolic every year.Sugar from a maple tree.That's what pleases me!

Third boy—Sweets are good most any day,But as for trees, I’m bound to say.A shag-bark tall is best of allWhen once the nuts begin to fall;And so a hickory tree I’ll set.And piles of fun and nuts I’ll get.Nuts from a hickory tree.That’s what pleases me!

Fourth boy—I shall plant an apple tree.That’s the best of all for me;And each kind to suit my mind,On this one with grafts I’ll bind.Ripe or green, the whole year through,Pie or dumpling, bake or stew,Every way I like ’em best,And I’ll treat the rest.

—Youths’ Companion.

Is bark thicker on one side of a tree than another?How many distinct layers can you find in bark?What is the purpose of the different layers?What commercial products are made from certain barks?Are there any barks having medicinal value?How many purposes has birch bark served?Why are hemlock and oak bark used in tanning leather?

Joy for the sturdy treesFanned by each fragrant breeze,Lovely they stand!The song birds o’er them thrill,They shade each tinkling rill,They crown each swelling hill.Lowly or grand.

Plant them by stream and way,Plant where the children playAnd 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,Set in some sweeter grace.Change may prove gain.

God will His blessings send,All things on Him depend.His loving careClings to each leaf and flower,Like ivy to its tower.His presence and His powerAre everywhere.