PS 3525 
 
 
 .fl2915 
 
 ^B^i¥'''' 
 
 M5 
 
 
 1921 
 
 
 Copy 1 
 
 
 
 • , ^1 
 
Class 
 
 Bookii 
 
 r?S352f 
 
 GopyriglitlJ^. 
 
 CDPMRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
 » 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
WHO PLANTS 
 A TREE 
 
 BY 
 WILLIAM F. McSPARRAN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 AUTHORS & PUBLISHERS CORPORATION 
 4th Avenue and 30th Street 
 M c M X X I 
 

 qt\ 
 
 Copyright, 1921, by the 
 
 Authors & Publishers Corporation 
 
 DEC 30 1921 
 @niA654.286 
 
 vv« f 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 CANTO I 
 
 Who journeys up, who journeys down, 
 Through country ways or peopled town, 
 Must e'er avow this truth with me: 
 A sage is he who plants a tree. 
 For, if he reaps as he hath sown, 
 As grows his tree so grows his own 
 Expanse of soul, in branch and root 
 And blooms that swell to ripe, full fruit. 
 For, when its growth the tree has made, 
 Its spreading branches cast a shade 
 Where men may pause, or children play, 
 Or birds sing out their roundelay 
 Within the sweet, mysterious shade. 
 All laud him who this bower has made, 
 
 CANTO II 
 
 The tree beside a spring may grow. 
 Where waters run and breezes blow, 
 
 5 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 And man and beast and bird, athirst. 
 Seek solace there, to quaff the first 
 Of draughts bestowed upon mankind : 
 A draught that leaves no sting behind ; 
 Where thanks will fully pay the score, 
 Where each will take just one sip more 
 For luck, or lest there may not be 
 Another haunt of greenery 
 Upon their way, nor any spring 
 Refreshing, free, and welcoming. 
 
 I see the birds from far and near 
 Come to the place without a fear, 
 A-panting on a sumrner day, 
 Enjoy the shade, and sip away 
 Their dainty thirst. Then comes along 
 The careless boy who hums a song, — 
 Both score and tune are doubtless wrong. 
 But, after all, a melody 
 That fits his soul and tells that he 
 Is skilled in boyhood's minstrelsy. 
 Butt one suspender serves to hold 
 His trousers, with one leg uprolled 
 Above the knee, the other torn 
 And tattered in a warfare borne 
 
 6 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 Of youthful strife; the higher rips 
 
 That came from many slides and sHps, — 
 
 These really show but little hurt, 
 
 So filled are they with parts of shirt. 
 
 'Tween smiling lips and dancing eyes 
 
 His freckle-zone sunshiny lies ; 
 
 Beneath his old hat's raveled brim 
 
 The cooling breeze caresses him. 
 
 He drinks his fill, then sighs regret 
 
 To quit the pleasant place just yet : 
 
 No bird nor buitterfly nor bee 
 
 From care or thought could be more free. 
 
 Now slowly down the dusty road, 
 With lagging step, as if his load 
 Across his stooping shoulder borne 
 Too heavy were for one so shorn 
 Of youthful vim, his eyes downcast. 
 Ashamed with looking on his past, 
 A stranger comes. The gladsome sound 
 Of whispering leaves, the shade around 
 Invite his arid soul. The spring 
 Extends its liquid welcoming. 
 Long, long since he an inn has found 
 Where hospitalities abound, — 
 
 7 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 Nor rank, nor caste, nor even race. 
 Denied the freedom of the place. 
 He findeth here democracy, 
 Beside the spring beneath the tree. 
 
 A hurried thrush in ecstasy 
 
 Flings out his thrilling melody, — 
 
 The air's evangel, — he to sing 
 
 A sluggish soul's awakening! 
 
 Perchance the stranger's depths are stirred 
 
 By tree and spring and song of bird, 
 
 So that, repentant, now his face 
 
 Will turn to that afar-off place 
 
 Where 'waits a father, who must yearn 
 
 To see the prodigal return. 
 
 Next, see the horse prick up his ear. 
 He knows that shade and drink are near. 
 He shakes his rein, to have more play. 
 And then he drinks and drinks away; 
 And noses in the cooling trough. 
 As if he ne'er could get enough. 
 The driver, too, drinks heartily, 
 
 8 
 
IV H O PLANTS A TREE 
 
 And says : "Old hoss, most kind is he 
 Who planted by this spring a tree." 
 
 CANTO III 
 
 The tree may glorify a spot, 
 
 Where foot of stranger cometh not, 
 
 Where love and labor's common lot 
 
 Make holy ground, — a peaceful place, 
 
 W^here one grown weary of the pace 
 
 Of hurried men aside may stray 
 
 And live one good, untroubled day. 
 
 There birds may build, and rear their young, 
 
 While songs are made and songs are sung. 
 
 To carry far on birdling tongue, — 
 
 Sweet minstrel tale for wood and lea! — 
 
 The praise of him who plants a tree. 
 
 Beneath that tree's enchanted ground 
 Fond dreams and fancies e'er abound. 
 Perchance the fairy folk come there 
 And play the pranks that fairies dare 
 In abandon of revelry 
 In all their elfin mystery. 
 
 9 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 The poet there will find a theme 
 
 And weave in verse the glint and gleam 
 
 Of that transcendent Hfe men miss 
 
 By being too absorbed in this, — 
 
 There make his easy fancies rhyme ^ 
 
 With all the moods of summertime; 
 
 Or bind into his lyric sheaves 
 
 Some tints and shades of autumn's leaves; 
 
 Or find some word so deep and strong 
 
 That winter's wind blows through his song; 
 
 Or touch his lyre in softer mood, 
 
 Like snowflakes falling in the wood; 
 
 Or catch the spirit of the spring, — 
 
 The tree's translated blossoming. 
 
 There lovers come and fondly tell 
 
 The story love e'er loves so well. 
 
 And who shall doubt when all may see 
 
 Love thrives the best beneath a tree, 
 
 Where grass is green and branches low 
 
 Are moving in the breezes so 
 
 No note of discord may invade 
 
 The holy quiet of the shade. 
 
 No doubt the children there will find 
 A playground pleasing to itheir mind, 
 
 10 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 And there will run, day after day, 
 Till spots of grass are worn away 
 By little feet that come and go, 
 Sometimes so swift, sometimes so slow ; 
 And then, — the heartache and the pain ! — 
 Two little feet come ne'er again. 
 The parents' love then seeks the tree 
 To feel its quiet sympathy ! 
 
 Go ye out, then, and plant a tree. 
 
 Plant it true and tenderly. 
 
 Training it so lovingly, 
 
 Faithfully in memory 
 
 Of the loved one gone before 
 To the dim and distant shore 
 Of eternity! 
 
 From mountain high, down to the sea. 
 He loveth best who plants a tree! 
 
 CANTO IV 
 
 It may be that your hand shall train 
 An oak to grow and spread amain 
 And scorn the power of wind and rain 
 
 11 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 And all the elemental hail 
 That comes the giant to assail, 
 While every storm that bends it low 
 But helps to make it sturdier grow, — 
 Thus ever stronger stands the tree 
 Because of rude adversity. 
 
 That oak may grow in pasture land. 
 
 Where every roving gipsy band 
 
 Of blithesome birds may camp, and where 
 
 Its leaves can catch from out the air 
 
 The secrets of the atmosphere 
 
 Held by the waves, and make them clear 
 
 To birds and all that understand 
 
 The whisperings of the air and land. 
 
 Maybe the Jerseys to the shade 
 
 Up from the filling pastures wade ; 
 
 And, chewing cuds, some lie, some stand 
 
 And grunt in fullness; this their land 
 
 Of sweet content, this fitting place •• 
 
 For foster-mothers of our race, — 
 
 These uncrowned queens of pure descent. 
 
 Whose useful lives are wholly spent 
 
 12 
 
WHO PLANT S A TREE 
 
 In service and humility, — 
 Companions fitting for the tree. 
 
 About the tree ripe. grain may stand, 
 The finished promise of the land, 
 And harvesters, as 'round they go. 
 Drop gathered sheaves in rank and row, — 
 Potential loaves of needed bread 
 For every land that must be fed 
 From our abundance. To the shade 
 The toilers come, and there is laid 
 A snowy cloth, on which they find 
 The "forenoon piece,** the very kind 
 Of pie and cheese and bun and cake 
 The country mothers love to make. 
 
 The "water boy," of course, comes late 
 For thirsty tongues, and these berate 
 His lagging steps; but, heedless, he. 
 With pie in hand, sprawls 'neath the tree 
 And smiles at Ruth, who sits apart, 
 A song of summer in her heart. 
 And breezes 'mongst her curls at play, — 
 For breezes what a holiday! 
 
 13 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 This hour has glorified the day 
 For those who toil. Ruth goes her way 
 From shading tree of waving leaves, 
 Far down the field among the sheaves. 
 
 No longer go our Ruths afield 
 
 To carry home the scanty yield 
 
 That gleaners get: the homes they keep 
 
 Where rest the hearts of those that reap. 
 
 CA!NTO V 
 
 No fairer sight can mortal see 
 Than blossomed-crowned apple tree, 
 A thousand tints make up the bloom; 
 A thousand odors, the perfume, — 
 No flaunt nor flare of sweetness, just 
 The kind of sweetness one can trust, 
 The kind that kindles joy, and more. 
 Gives promise of ripe fruit in store. 
 All seasons' efforts are combined 
 To make the best of apple-kind. 
 And sun and soil their powers unite 
 To get the finest flavor right. 
 
 14 
 
IV H O PLANTS A TREE 
 
 Thus, when the days of autumn come, 
 Behold the fruit that's carried home! 
 
 Rare, rare the nights of winter days! — 
 
 When at the hearthstone center ways 
 
 Divergent through the day's employ. 
 
 Who ever knew a better joy 
 
 Than shutting door and drawing blind, 
 
 All love before, all else behind? 
 
 The fire of blazing logs outthrows 
 
 A song of how the forest grows : 
 
 A hundred years to make the oak 
 
 That falls beneath the woodman's stroke, — 
 
 To have the blazing log now come 
 
 Unto the altar of a home, 
 
 For one night's warmth and homely cheer, — 
 
 A beauteous thing, but costing dear. 
 
 But, after all, content are we 
 
 To be the heirs of such a tree. 
 
 The mother and the children there. 
 And playthings scattered everywhere, 
 And easy chairs and slippered feet. 
 And all the apples all would eat. 
 
 15 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 For friends to come, still plenty more, — 
 A generous share we put in store 
 To gladden those who come to grace 
 And cheer awhile our dwelling place 
 And bring a thought, or vision new, 
 That helps, is clean, that loves, is true. 
 
 Stir up the fire ! For mine and me 
 This oak has grown a century. 
 Away with gloom and chilling frost! 
 The fire is worth quite all it cost! 
 Another apple, if you please. 
 The generous plant apple trees. 
 
 CANTO VI 
 
 Nearby the public schoolhouse stood 
 A birch that grew enough of wood 
 To keep us youngsters pretty good. 
 Severe the pruning, till we found 
 The branches high above the ground. 
 On tiptoe teachers we would see 
 Stand looking up into the tree, 
 Where wished-for twigs hung tauntingly. 
 
 16 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 Then came there one who on tiptoe 
 
 Could reach about ten feet or so, 
 
 And thus could pick and choose them o'er, 
 
 Those switches man ne'er touched before; 
 
 And all through every lower limb 
 
 The tree a harvest was to him ; 
 
 And when he flogged, each would agree 
 
 That birch was a "prime evil" tree. 
 
 Then came a little Miss to teach, — 
 We laughed to think she'd never reach 
 Those birch-boughs high above her head. 
 But once, when Bill and Jack and Ned 
 And many more had broken rule 
 And made a riot in the school, 
 The teacher with determined will 
 Just linked us, boy on boy, until 
 The topmost one the boughs could reach, — 
 A human chain across the breach. 
 To choose one's rod! — alas, that lent 
 Sharp irony to punishment! 
 Now scattered like its leaves are we 
 Who then played 'round that schoolhouse tree. 
 Those maids are maitrons; men, those boys, 
 And some have gone beyond earth's joys, 
 
 17 
 
IV H O PLANTS A TREE 
 
 And some have names we number great 
 In work they chose ; but, — such is fate ! — 
 The most of us are just such folk 
 As pass along beneath the yoke 
 That life fits on. With hoe and hook, 
 With square and planev, or pen and book, 
 We keep at work and onward pass, 
 Just as at school, — the middle class. 
 
 In those schooldays we never knew 
 Nor cared to ask to whom was due 
 Thanks for that tree of grateful shade, 
 Where, free from books, we romped and played. 
 No annal tells his name; but he 
 Gave us a precious legacy, — 
 For in the memories of us all 
 At times that birch tree's blossoms fall. 
 
 CANTO VII 
 
 I loved a man who planted trees: 
 Most loved of all love's memories 
 Was when he walked and talked with me 
 
 18 
 
WHO PLANTS A TREE 
 
 'Mong vine and shrub and bush and tree, — 
 
 Of all of them so lovingly, — 
 
 His trees of fruits, his trees of blooms, 
 
 Of nuts, of colors, shapes, perfumes; 
 
 He brought them in from near and far. 
 
 Where secrets of the deep woods are, 
 
 From hill and vale and sunny place, 
 
 The foundling ones of every race. 
 
 He knew the needs of each; and so 
 
 He planted them where they would grow, 
 
 And gave them such a father's care 
 
 They grew for him just everywhere. 
 
 He kept their records in his heart; 
 
 And, when he walked with friends, apart, 
 
 Among his trees, his converse ran 
 
 From love of trees to love of man. 
 
 Exalted thus, the ways he trod 
 
 Led ever upward unto God. 
 
 And so he passed; but still for me 
 
 He liveth on in vine and tree. 
 
 CANTO VIII 
 
 Why not, therefore, plant a tree? — 
 And, like it, so gracefully 
 19 
 
WHO 
 
 PLANTS 
 
 TREE 
 
 Meet life's changes that men say: 
 "He grows younger every day; 
 Every Spring renews his youth; 
 Till it seems, in very truth, 
 That by art or wizardy 
 He saps vigor from his tree." 
 
 Beneath your vine and fig tree, — now 
 Far past the use of hoe or plow, — 
 Far past ambition's urging spur, 
 Away from every buzz and burr 
 Of all the busy world outside, 
 You now in peace can there abide, 
 While waiting on Life's harvest-ground 
 Until the Reaper comes around. 
 
 Who plants a tree, plants life. Thus we 
 May plant for immortality. 
 For who shall say how cycles run 
 From age to age, when once begun? — 
 Or who appraise the lives, indeed, 
 That lie enfolded in a seed? — 
 Or say how high the eye may be 
 Trained upward-looking by a tree? 
 
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