Planting of the Tree
by J.D. Burrell
Long this little stem has grown
In a quiet spot, unknown;
Now we plant it here, to be
Ever honored as our tree.
May the kind earth give it food,
And warm sunlight o'er it brood,
shower make bright, and storm make hard,
And no harm its growth retard.
May it give to men delight,
Rich in shade, and fair to sight:
And while untold years roll by,
Speak of us to memory.
Little tree, our own! we pray,
Be our teacher everyday;
On us strength and grace impress,
That we, too, the world may bless.