Planting for The Future

 PLANTING FOR THE FUTURE by Harriet Wright

In youth's glad morning hour,
All life a holiday doth seem;
We glance adown time's vista long
Beholding but the sunny gleam.

The happy hearts that meet to-day,
In a loving band are drawn more near
By the loving end that crowns our work,
Planting trees for a future year.

O tender trees! ye may thrive and grow,
And spread your branches to the sun,
When the youthful band assembled here,
Has reaped life's harvest, every one.

When the shining eye shall lose its fire,
When the rosy cheek shall fade away,
Thou'lt drink of the dew and bask in the light
Forgetful of this Arbor Day.

The bounding heart, the active limb,
The merry laugh and sparkling jest,
Be mingled with the things of earth,
And sink to solitude and rest.

But o'er this ground with branching arms,
These trees shall cast their leafy shade,
And other hearts as light and gay,
Shall reap the shelter we have made.

So let our planting ever be, 
Something in store for a future year,
When homeward with our harvest bound,
We'll meet the Master without fear.

Help Build The New Forests:

• How China turned the desert into green forests
• 5 Most Epic Earth Healing Projects
• Restoring dry land in Tanzania
• Lebanon: Planting cedar trees in a country in crisis
• 50 Years Ago, This Was a Wasteland, Now See It!
• We bought land in Scotland to plant a forest!
• Man spends 30 years turning degraded land into massive forest.

Forest Song

FOREST SONG by W. H. Venable

A song for the beautiful trees!
A song for the forest grand,
The garden of God's own land,
The pride of His centuries.
Hurrah! for the kingly oak,
For the maple, the sylvan queen,
For the lords of the emerald cloak,
For the ladies in living green.

For the beautiful trees a song,
The peers of a glorious realm,
Linden, the ash, and the elm,
The poplar stately and strong
Hurrah! for the beech-tree trim,
For the hickory stanch at core,
For the locust thorny and grim,
For the silvery sycamore.

A song from the palm, the pine,
And for every tree that grows
From the desolate zone of snows
To the zone of the burning line.
Hurrah! for the warders proud
Of the mountain-side and vale,
That challenge the thunder-cloud,
And buffet the stormy gale.

A song for the forest aisled,
With its gothic roof sublime,
The solemn temple of time,
Where man becometh a child,
As he lists to the anthem-roll
Of the wind in the solitude,
The hymn which telleth his soul
That God is the voice of the wood.

So long as the rivers flow,
So long as the mountains rise,
May the forest sing to the skies,
And shelter the earth below.
Hurrah! for the beautiful trees,
Hurrah! for the forest grand,
The pride of His centuries.
The garden of God's own land.

The Forest & The Worship & God's Creative Nature:

• God of Wonders
• Angus Dei-Worthy
• Your Love Oh Lord
• Things of Heaven 
• I Speak Jesus
• Lord I Need You

The heart of the tree...

 THE HEART OF THE TREE

What does he plant who plants a tree?
He plants a friend of sun and sky;
He plants the flag of breezes free;
The shaft of beauty, towering high;
He plants a home to heaven anigh
For song and mother-croon of bird
In hushed and happy twilight heard
The treble of heaven's harmony
These things he plants who plants a tree.

What does he plant who plants a tree?
He plants cool shade and tender rain,
And seed and bud of days to be,
And years that fade and flush again;
He plants the glory of the plain;
He plants the forest's heritage;
The harvest of a coming age;
The joy that unborn eyes shall see
These things he plants who plants a tree.

What does he plant who plants a tree?
He plants, in sap and leaf and wood,
In love of home and loyalty
And far-cast thought of civic good
His blessing on the neighborhood
Who in the hollow of His hand
Holds all the growth of all our land
A nation's growth from sea to sea
Stirs in his heart who plants a tree.

The Heart of A Tree:

• How a tree works...
• How Trees Grow
• How Trees Grow and Develop?
• How tall can a tree grow?

Woodman, Spare That Tree!

 WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE by George P. Morris

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot,
There, woodman, let it stand;
Thy axe shall harm it not! 

The old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hack it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh, spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy
I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy,
Here, too, my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand
Forgive the foolish tear;
But let that old oak stand.

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend;
Here shall the wild-bird sing,
And still thy branches, bend.
Old tree ! the storm still brave!
And, woodman, leave the spot;
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.

Forests Under Threat or Gone:

• Deforestation and Forest Degradation
• World's forests under threat from economic and environmental crises
• Forests Under Threat Tropical and Taiga Forests
• Learn about redwood forests from Sempervirens Fund
• The Threats To The Redwoods

Invitation

INVITATION by Charles Sangster

Oh, come away to the grave old woods
Ere the skies are tinged with light,
Ere the slumbering leaves of the gloomy trees
Have thrown off the mists of night ;
Ere the birds are up,
Or the floweret's cup
Js drained of its fresh'ning dew,
Or the bubbling rill
Kissing the hill
Breaks on the distant view;
Oh, such is the hour
To feel the power
Of the quiet, grave old woods!
Then, while sluggards dream,
Of some dismal theme,
Let us stroll,
With prayerful soul,
Through the depths of the grave old woods.

Oh, come away to the bright old woods,
As the sun ascends the skies,
While the birdlings sing their morning hymn,
And each leaf in the grove replies;
When the golden-zoned bee
Flies from flower to tree
Seeking sweets for its honeyed cell,
And the voice of praise
Sounds its varied lays
From the depths of each quiet dell:
Oh, such is the hour
To feel the power
Of the magic bright old woods!
Then, while sluggards dream
Of some trifling theme,
Let us stroll,
With studious soul,
Through the depths of the bright old woods.

Some of the oldest forests on Earth:

• Kakamega Forest
• Yakushima in the interior of Yaku Island
• The Bialowieza Forest
• The Tarkine Forest Reserve

The Ivy Green

THE IVY GREEN

Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The walls must be crumbled, the stones decayed,
To pleasure his dainty whim ;
And the mold'ring dust that years have made
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the ivy green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has he!
How closely he twineth, how tightly he clings,
To his friend, the huge oak tree!
And slyly he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves,
And he joyously twines and hugs around
The rich mould of dead men's graves.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the ivy green.

Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed,
And nations scattered been;
But the stout old ivy shall never fade
From its hale and hearty green.
The brave old plant in its lonely days
Shall fatten upon the past;
For the stateliest building man can raise
Is the ivy's food at last.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the ivy green.

CHARLES DICKENS

The Good Daughter

 The Good Daughter

MY merry little daughter
Was climbing out of bed -
"Don't you think I'm a good girl,''
My little daughter said;
"For all day long this lovely day
And all day long to-morrow,
I haven't done a single thing
To give my mother sorrow!"

An Early Childhood Prayer

An Early Childhood Prayer 

Now I lay me down to sleep:
I pray the Lord my soul to keep/
Was my childhood's early prayer
Taught by my mother's love and care.
Many years since then have fled;
Mother slumbers with the dead;
Yet methinks I see her now,
With lovelit eye and holy brow,
As, kneeling by her side to pray.
She gently taught me how to say,
"Now I lay me down to sleep :
I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

Oh! could the faith of childhood's days.
Oh! could its little hymns of praise.
Oh! could its simple, joyous trust
Be re-created from the dust
That lies around a wasted life.
The fruit of many a, bitter strife!
Oh, then at night in prayer I'd bend,
And call my God, my Father, Friend,
And pray with childlike faith once more
The prayer my mother taught of yore,
"Now I lay me down to sleep:
I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

Eugene Henry Pullen

Bright little fairy tales...

 Bright little fairy tales...

There was a place in childhood that I
remember well,
And there a voice of sweetest tone bright
fairy tales did tell;
And gentle words and fond embrace were
given with joy to me
When I was in that happy place, upon my
mother's knee.

When fairy tales were ended, "Good night,"
she softly said.
And kissed, and laid me down to sleep within
my tiny bed;
And holy words she taught me there - me-
thinks I yet can see
Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my
mother's knee.

In the sickness of my childhood, the perils
of my prime,
The sorrows of my riper years, the cares of
every time;
When doubt and danger weighed me down,
then pleading all for me.
It was a fervent prayer to Heaven that bent
my mother's knee.

Samuel Lover

Soft and Low

 Soft and Low

Mother, crooning soft and low,
Let not all thy fancies go,
Like swift birds, to the blue skies
Of thy darling's happy eyes.

Count thy baby's curls for beads,
As a sweet saint intercedes;
But on some fair ringlet's gold
Let a tender prayer be told

For the mother, all alone,
Who for singing maketh moan,
Who doth ever vainly seek
Dimpled arms and velvet cheek.

Mary Frances Butts

Singing Mother To Sleep

 Singing Mother to Sleep

Back and forth in a rocker,
Lost in revery deep.
The mother rocked while trying
To sing the baby to sleep.

The baby began a-crowing.
For silent he couldn't keep -
And after awhile the baby
Had crowed his mother to sleep.

Richard Kendall Munkittrick

The Voice of My Mother

The Voice of My Mother

The voices of the Loved and Lost are
stirring at my heart,
And memory's misered treasures leap to
life, with sudden start -

Thou art looking, smiling on me, as thou
hast looked and smiled. Mother,
And I am sitting at thy side, at heart a very
child. Mother!

I'm with thee now in soul, sweet Mother,
much as in those hours,
When all my wealth was in thy love, and in
the birds and flowers.

And by these holy yearnings, by these eyes
sweet tears wet,
I know there wells a spring of love through
all my being yet.

Gerald Massey