The Oak
A song to the oak
The brave old oak,
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long:
Here’s health and renown
To his broad green crown
And his fifty arms so strong.
There’s fear in his frown
When the sun goes down,
And the fire in the west fades out;
And he showeth his might
On a wild midnight,
When the storms through his branches shout.
Then here’s to the oak
The brave old oak!
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he,
A hale, green tree
When a hundred years are gone.
H. F. Chorley.