The sail that wafts the admiral in his pride,
By it is held to catch the willing gale,
And on its giant breast the fabric rests,
That bears the sturdy warriors of the deep,
And floats them on in sunshine and in storm.
Its branches to the cottage-hearth are given,
And by the fire that feeds and grows on them
The chilly air is changed to breath of spring.
Food, shelter, comfort, from its fall proceed,
And thousands bless the hand that laid thee low.