TREE.
The trees of the Lord are full of sap; the cedars of Lebanon which He hath planted.—Psalm civ. 16.
And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire.—Matthew, iii. 10.
Every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.—Matthew, xii. 17.
A tree was first the instrument of strife,
When Eve to sin her soul did prostitute;
A tree is now the instrument of life,
Though ill that trunk, and Christ’s fair body suit;
Ah, cursed tree! and yet, oh, blessed fruit!
That death to Him, this life to us doth give:
Strange is the cure when things past cure revive,
And the physician dies to make his patient live.
Giles Fletcher.
Like crowded forest trees we stand,
And some are marked to fall:
The axe shall smite, at God’s command,
And soon shall smite us all.
Green as the bay tree, ever green,
With its new foliage on,
The gay, the thoughtless have I seen;
I passed, and they were gone.
Cowper.
Of all the trees that in earth’s vineyard grow,
And with their clusters tempted man to pull
And eat, one tree alone the true
Celestial manna bore, which filled the soul.
The tree of holiness, of heavenly seed,
A native of the skies, though stunted made,
And dwarfed by time’s cold, damp, ungenial soil,
And chilling winds, yet yielding fruit so pure,
So nourishing and sweet, as on his way
Refreshed the pilgrim; and begot desire
Unquenchable, to climb the arduous path
To where her sister plants, in their own clime,
Around the fount and by the stream of life,
Blooming beneath the sun that never sets,
Bear fruit of perfect relish fully ripe.
Pollok.
God spake: the hills and plains put on
Their robe of freshest green;
Dark forest in the valleys wave,
And budding trees are seen.
The word of His breath clothes the forest with leaves,
The high gift of beauty the spring-tide receives.
Krummacher.
I heard the language of the trees,
In the noons of the early summer;
As the leaves were moved like rippling seas
By the wind—a constant comer.
It came and it went at its wanton will;
And evermore loved to dally,
With branch and flower, from the cope of the hill
To the warm depths of the valley.
The sunlight glow’d; the water flow’d;
The birds their music chanted,
And the words of the trees on my senses fell—
By a spirit of Beauty haunted:—
Said each to each, in mystic speech:—
“The skies our branches nourish;—
The world is good,—the world is fair,—
Let us enjoy and flourish!”
Again I heard the steadfast trees;
The wintry winds were blowing;
There seem’d a roar as of stormy seas,
And of ships to the depths down-going.
And ever a moan through the woods was blown,
As the branches snapp’d asunder,
And the long boughs swung like the frantic arms
Of a crowd in affright and wonder,
Heavily rattled the driving hail;
And storm and flood combining,
Laid bare the roots of mighty oaks
Under the shingle twining.
Said tree to tree, “These tempests free
Our sap and strength shall nourish;
Though the world be hard—though the world be cold—
We can endure and flourish.”
Charles Mackay.