Woodman, Spare that Tree!

Woodman, spare that tree!      Touch not a single bough!     In youth it sheltered me,      And I'll protect it now.     'Twas my forefather's hand      That placed it near his cot;     There, woodman, let it stand,      Thy axe shall harm it not.     That old familiar tree,      Whose glory and renown     Are spread o'er land and sea--      And wouldst thou hew it down?     Woodman, forebear thy stroke!      Cut not its earth-bound ties;     Oh, spare that aged oak,      Now towering to the skies!     When but an idle boy,      I sought its grateful shade;     In all their gushing joy      Here, too, my sisters played.     My mother kissed me here;      My father pressed my hand--     Forgive this foolish tear,      But let that old oak stand.     My heart-strings round thee cling,      Close as thy bark, old friend!     Here shall the wild-bird sing,      And still thy branches bend.     Old tree! the storm still brave!      And, woodman, leave the spot;     While I've a hand to save,      thy axe shall harm it not.