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The poems of Mary Howitt cover

The poems of Mary Howitt

Chapter 55: THE OAK-TREE.

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About This Book

A varied volume of lyrical and narrative poems, hymns, and moral pieces that blend domestic sentiment, Christian reflection, and close observation of the natural world. Organized into thematic sections—hymns and fireside verses, birds and flowers, sketches of natural history, tales in verse, and miscellaneous pieces—the poems range from gentle meditations on mortality and virtue to ballads and dramatic monologues, often aimed at or suitable for young readers. The collection pairs simple didactic storytelling with vivid rural imagery, and is accompanied by a brief memoir outlining the poet’s upbringing and literary influences.

THE OAK-TREE.

Sing for the Oak-Tree,

The monarch of the wood;

Sing for the Oak-Tree,

That groweth green and good;

That groweth broad and branching

Within the forest shade;

That groweth now, and yet shall grow

When we are lowly laid!

The Oak-Tree was an acorn once,

And fell upon the earth;

And sun and showers nourished it,

And gave the Oak-Tree birth.

The little sprouting Oak-Tree!

Two leaves it had at first,

Till sun and showers had nourished it,

Then out the branches burst.

The little sapling Oak-Tree!

Its root was like a thread,

Till the kindly earth had nourished it,

Then out it freely spread:

On this side and on that side

It grappled with the ground;

And in the ancient, rifted rock

Its firmest footing found.

The winds came, and the rain fell;

The gusty tempest blew;

All, all were friends to the Oak-Tree,

And stronger yet it grew.

The boy that saw the acorn fall,

He feeble grew and grey;

But the Oak was still a thriving tree,

And strengthened every day!

Four centuries grows the Oak-Tree

Nor doth its verdue fail;

Its heart is like the iron-wood,

Its bark like plated mail.

Now, cut us down the Oak-Tree,

The monarch of the wood;

And of its timbers stout and strong

We’ll build a vessel good!

The Oak-Tree of the forest

Both east and west shall fly;

And the blessings of a thousand lands

Upon our ship shall lie!

For she shall not be a man-of-war,

Nor a pirate shall she be:—

But a noble, Christian merchant-ship

To sail upon the sea.

Then sing for the Oak-Tree,

The monarch of the wood;

Sing for the Oak-Tree,

That groweth green and good;

That groweth broad and branching

Within the forest shade;

That groweth now, and yet shall grow,

When we are lowly laid!