Classic Poem

Beautiful germ! I have set thee low
In the dewy earth — strike, spring, and grow
Oh! cleave to the soil, and thou mayst be
The king of the woods, a brave rare tree.
Acorn of England, thou mayst bear
Thy green head high in the mountain air.
Another age, and thy mighty form
May scowl as the sun and mock the storm.

A hundred years, and the woodman's stroke
May fiercely fall on thy heart of oak;
Let time roll on, and thy planks may ride
In glorious state o'er the fathomless tide.
Thou mayst baffle the waters, and firmly take
The winds that sweep and waves that break;
And thy vaunted strength shall as nobly stand
The rage of the sea as the storm on the land.

A hundred years, and in some fair hall
Thou mayst shine as the polished wainscot wall.
And ring with the laugh and echo the jest
Of the happy host and the feasting guest.
Acorn of England! deep in the earth
Mayst thou live and burst in flourishing birth;
May thy root be firm and thy broad arms wave,
When the hand that plants thee is cold in the grave.