by Harry Behn
Trees are the kindest things I know,
They do no harm, they simply grow;
And spread a shade for sleepy cows,
And gather birds among their bows.
They give us fruit in leaves above,
And wood to make our houses of;
And leaves to burn on Halloween,
And in the Spring new buds of green.
They are first when day's begun,
To tough the beams of morning sun;
They are the last to hold the light,
When evening changes into night.
And when a moon floats on the sky,
They hum a drowsy lullaby;
Of sleepy children long ago...
Trees are the kindest things I know.
Oh, there's music in the forests
And there's music in the glen,
As the birds are warbling greetings
To the spring that's come again.
All their piping is so merry
That the woodlands seem to ring,
With the praises of the birdsongs
For the coming of the spring.
Join the joyous woodland chorus
And raise high your voice in cheer,
Join the birdsongs in thanksgiving
For the springtime of the year!