And on that day, to the rebeck gay
They frolicked with lovesome swains;
They are gone, they are dead, in the churchyard laid,
But the tree, it still remains.
Then here's to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he, a hale old tree,
When a hundred years are gone.
He saw the rare times when the Christmas chimes
Were a merry sound to hear,