God, what a joy it is to plant a tree, 
And from the sallow earth to watch it rise, 
Lifting its emerald branches to the skies 
In silent adoration; and to see 
Its strength and glory waxing with each spring. 
Yes, 'tis a goodly, and a gladsome thing 
To plant a tree. 

Nature has many marvels; but a tree 
Seems more than marvellous. It is divine. 
So generous, so tender, so benign. 
Not garrulous like the rivers; and yet free 
In pleasant converse with the winds and birds; 
Oh! privilege beyond explaining words, 
To plant a tree. 

Rocks are majestic; but, unlike a tree, 
They stand aloof, and silent. In the roar 
Of ocean billows breaking on the shore 
There sounds the voice of turmoil. But a tree 
Speaks ever of companionship and rest. 
Yea, of all righteous acts, this, this is best, 
To plant a tree. 

There is an oak (oh! how I love that tree) 
Which has been thriving for a hundred years; 
Each day I send my blessing through the spheres 
To one who gave this triple boon to me, 
Of growing beauty, singing birds, and shade. 
Wouldst thou win laurels that shall never fade?