Woodman Spare that Tree.Copied by permission ofFirth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway,N. Y., owners of the copyright.Woodman, spare that treeTouch not a single bough,In youth it shelter’d me,And I’ll protect it now;’Twas my forefather’s handThat placed it near his cot;There, woodman, let it stand,Thy ax shall harm it not.That old familiar tree,Whose glory and renownAre spread o’er land and sea,—And wouldst thou hack it down?Woodman, forbear thy stroke!Cut not its earth-bound ties;Oh! spare that aged oakNow towering to the skies!When but an idle boyI sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing joy,Here, too, my sisters play’d.My mother kiss’d me here;My father press’d my hand:Forgive this foolish tear,But let the old oak stand!My heart-strings round thee cling,Close as thy bark, old friend!Here shall the wild birds sing,And still thy branches bend.Old tree! the storms still brave!And, woodman, leave the spot!While I have hand to save,Thy ax shall harm it not.
Copied by permission ofFirth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway,N. Y., owners of the copyright.
Woodman, spare that treeTouch not a single bough,In youth it shelter’d me,And I’ll protect it now;’Twas my forefather’s handThat placed it near his cot;There, woodman, let it stand,Thy ax shall harm it not.That old familiar tree,Whose glory and renownAre spread o’er land and sea,—And wouldst thou hack it down?Woodman, forbear thy stroke!Cut not its earth-bound ties;Oh! spare that aged oakNow towering to the skies!When but an idle boyI sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing joy,Here, too, my sisters play’d.My mother kiss’d me here;My father press’d my hand:Forgive this foolish tear,But let the old oak stand!My heart-strings round thee cling,Close as thy bark, old friend!Here shall the wild birds sing,And still thy branches bend.Old tree! the storms still brave!And, woodman, leave the spot!While I have hand to save,Thy ax shall harm it not.
Woodman, spare that treeTouch not a single bough,In youth it shelter’d me,And I’ll protect it now;’Twas my forefather’s handThat placed it near his cot;There, woodman, let it stand,Thy ax shall harm it not.That old familiar tree,Whose glory and renownAre spread o’er land and sea,—And wouldst thou hack it down?Woodman, forbear thy stroke!Cut not its earth-bound ties;Oh! spare that aged oakNow towering to the skies!When but an idle boyI sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing joy,Here, too, my sisters play’d.My mother kiss’d me here;My father press’d my hand:Forgive this foolish tear,But let the old oak stand!My heart-strings round thee cling,Close as thy bark, old friend!Here shall the wild birds sing,And still thy branches bend.Old tree! the storms still brave!And, woodman, leave the spot!While I have hand to save,Thy ax shall harm it not.
Woodman, spare that treeTouch not a single bough,In youth it shelter’d me,And I’ll protect it now;’Twas my forefather’s handThat placed it near his cot;There, woodman, let it stand,Thy ax shall harm it not.
Woodman, spare that tree
Touch not a single bough,
In youth it shelter’d me,
And I’ll protect it now;
’Twas my forefather’s hand
That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy ax shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree,Whose glory and renownAre spread o’er land and sea,—And wouldst thou hack it down?Woodman, forbear thy stroke!Cut not its earth-bound ties;Oh! spare that aged oakNow towering to the skies!
That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o’er land and sea,—
And wouldst thou hack it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh! spare that aged oak
Now towering to the skies!
When but an idle boyI sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing joy,Here, too, my sisters play’d.My mother kiss’d me here;My father press’d my hand:Forgive this foolish tear,But let the old oak stand!
When but an idle boy
I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy,
Here, too, my sisters play’d.
My mother kiss’d me here;
My father press’d my hand:
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let the old oak stand!
My heart-strings round thee cling,Close as thy bark, old friend!Here shall the wild birds sing,And still thy branches bend.Old tree! the storms still brave!And, woodman, leave the spot!While I have hand to save,Thy ax shall harm it not.
My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild birds sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storms still brave!
And, woodman, leave the spot!
While I have hand to save,
Thy ax shall harm it not.