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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 would'st 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 boy
I sought its grateful shade
In all their gushing joy,
Here too my sister's play'd.
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 birds sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storms still brave!
And, woodman leave the spot;
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.