Maple, The

Exalt who will the oak and pine
    To flutter in their banner’s folds,
The goodly Maple shall be mine,
    The glory of our rocky woods,
That fires the spring with reddening buds,
And blazes in the autumn woods.

Its stainless blood draws sweetness in
    From shining sun and dusky marl;
Its thickening foliage shrouds the din
    Of whistling blackbirds, and the snarl
Of catbirds, holding back the notes
Of every songster, in their throats.

Observe the two-leaved germ beneath
Its horny shelter locked secure;
Unwind it gently from its sheath,
    And lo, a tree in miniature!
So in the boy the future man
Is wrapped, in Nature’s perfect plan.

The sturdy trunk has gnarls and coils
    That gladden the aesthetic eye,
When polished by the carver’s toils
    To serve the boudoir’s marquetry, —
For all is good, from bud to core,
To win our praise and crown our store.

Then lift our banners to the breeze;
    Our symbol Maple proudly sing;
The brightest of autumnal trees,
    The first to prophesy the spring;
The State’s fit emblem where began
Full freedom for the soul of man!