Trees of the forest and the wooded glen,
Say will ye claim companionship with men
Who with a smaller, weaker arm have dared
To spill thy life-sap on thy native sward,
And with remorseless hand thy fibers rend,
Say, canst thou make this enemy thy friend?
Not ours to choose, a thousand gifts attest
That we by thy existence are but blest,
We at thy feet might sit and learn,
Nor feel a spark of just resentment burn;
But ye possess a more than human grace
To smile upon the spoilers of thy race.