What ethics in the pine-grove lurk
For keen of ear to sound—
A myriad kindly ministers,
The trees maintain a brotherhood,
The earth exhales a prayer,
Each bough a precious ointment pours
In balm upon the air.
The ferns a tender refuge grant
To vagrant, rolling cone;
The forest monarch woos the bird
To share his royal throne.
The willing branches move aside
To leave the sunlight room;
And in the whole broad, lovely wood,
No envy makes a gloom.
Come out and learn of pine-grove lore
How sweet it is to give,
What perfect rule for happiness,—
To live and help to live.