Woodman! Spare That Tree!
Written by: Alan Dodworth, Copyright: Public domain
Woodman
spare that tree! Touch not a single bough; In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now; 'Twas my fore father's
hand That placed it near the 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 hack it down? Woodman, forbear thy
stroke! Cut not its earth, bound ties; Oh! spare that ag-ed oak Now towering to the skies! When but a
idle boy I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kiss'd me
here; My father press'd 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.
