he "trees of God," the prophet said,
Great trees, with sap, and laurelled head;
Ay, trees of God! all strength, all beauty,
Wove by invisible Hand and thread,—
With anchors flexed as lissome withe;
With boles like mighty monolith;
These arms of brawn, outstretched in power
To brave the storms that would test their pith!
Lords of the scene in blasts and calms,
The breath of life within their palms,
They rhythmic sway in choral murmur
While seas and suns chant their rolling psalms.
he flecks of gold that glorify
The forest floors to loving eye,
Withdraw from me,—a splendor lingers
On trees of God, in their crowns on high.
And as the arch with stars is sprent,
I hear balm-dew from firmament
Drip richly from their whispering leafage
To soothe the fields to a sweet content.
In bloom of dark they softly stir,
Till arrowy dawn the shadow-blur
Dispels—God's tingling kiss of morning
On oak and maple and pine and fir.