Morning Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

By the river that is flowing,
Towards the ocean's tide,
Stands an oak tree, tall, gigantic,
Branches spreading wide.

And his form so tall and stately,
Brace the cool spring breeze,
With his crown so bright and vernal,
King of all the trees.

Grayhaired men, now old and palsied,
Once in childhood played,
'Neath this oak tree by the river,
Where the acorns layed.

Through the wear of many a summer,
Wax childhood to man,
Same in valorous strength and beauty,
Still the oak tree stands.

And his leaves hath yield to autumn,
Many a century year,
When the red men roved the forest,
Chased the panting deer.

Oft there floated down the river,
In his snug canoe,
Indian youth with bow and quiver:
Here, the wildbirds flew.

And the fox with fearless footsteps,
Roamed the forest here,
Deer and fawn, beneath the moon-light,
Grazed with little fear.

All alone the oak tree standeth,
Now the forest's gone,
Ne'er the scenes of wood-land nature,
Left to look upon.

Birds migrated, flowers created,
Red men came and gone;
Time hath like the flowing river,
Drift to parts unknown

Still he holds his youthful beauty,
Wears his broad, green crown;
As a landmark he's now standing,
Known for miles around.