Who loves a tree he loves the life that springs in star and clod;
He loves the love that gilds the clouds and greens the April sod;
He loves the Wide Beneficence. His soul takes hold on God.

A tree is one of nature's words, a word of peace to man,
A word that tells of central strength from whence all things began,
A word to preach tranquillity to all our restless clan.

Ah, bare must be the shadeless ways, and bleak the path must be,
Of him who, having open eyes, has never learned to see,
And so has never learned to love the beauty of a tree.

'Tis well for man to mix with men, to drive his stubborn quest
In harbored cities where the ships come from the East and West,
To fare forth where the tumult roars, and scorn the name of rest.

'Tis well the current of his life should toward the deeps be whirled,
And feel the clash of alien waves along its channel swirled,
And the conflux of the eddies of the mighty-flowing world.

But he is wise who, 'mid what noise his winding way may be,
Still keeps a heart that holds a nook of calm serenity,
And an inviolate virgin soul that still can love a tree.

Who loves a tree he loves the life that springs in star and clod,
He loves the love that gilds the clouds and greens the April sod;
He loves the Wide Beneficence. His soul takes hold on God.