Arbor Day Leaves Part 7

_First voice._

Flag of the heroes who left us their glory, Borne through our battle-fields' thunder and flame, Blazoned in song and illumined in story, Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame!

_Second voice._

Light of our firmament, guide of our nation, Pride of her children, and honored afar, Let the wide beams of thy full constellation Scatter each cloud that would darken a star!

_Third voice._

Empire unsceptred! what foe shall a.s.sail thee, Bearing the standard of Liberty's van?

Think not the G.o.d of thy fathers shall fail thee, Striving with men for the birthright of man!

_Fourth voice._

Yet, if by madness and treachery blighted, Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must draw, Then, with the arms of thy millions united, Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law!

_All._

Up with our banner bright, Sprinkled with starry light, Spread its fair emblems from mountain to sh.o.r.e; While through the sounding sky, Loud rings the Nation's cry,-- Union and Liberty!--one evermore!

--OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

=6. ADDRESS OR READING OF SOME SELECTION FROM ANOTHER PART OF THIS PAMPHLET.=

=7. MARCHING FROM THE FIELD.= (TO FOLLOWING TUNE.)

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.

GEORGE P. MORRIS.

HENRY RUSSELL.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Music notation]

1. 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 axe shall harm it not!

2. That old, familiar tree, Its glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea, And would'st thou hew it down?

Woodman, forbear thy stroke!

Cut not its earth-bound ties; Oh! spare that aged oak, Now tow'ring to the skies.

3. When but an idle boy, I sought its friendly shade; In all their gus.h.i.+ng 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!

4. 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 thou'lt brave, And, woodman, leave the spot; While I've a hand to save, Thy axe shall harm it not!

=8. BREAKING RANKS AND DISMISSAL.=

[Ill.u.s.tration]