The Old Pine Tree

"Listen my child," said the old pine     tree, to the little one nestling near,"For the storm clouds troop together to-night,     and the wind of the north I

And perchance there may come some echo of     the music of long ago,

The music that rang when the White Host     sang, marching across the snow.""Up and away Saint George! up thro' the     mountain gorge,

Over the plain where the tempest blows, and     the great white flakes are

Down the long narrow glen! faster my merry     men,

Follow the trail, tho' shy moon hides, and     deeply the drifts are lying.""Ah! mother." the little pine tree replied,     "you are dreaming again

Of ghostly visions and phantom forms that for-     ever mock your sight'Tis true moan of the winter wind comes     to my list'ning

But the White Host marching,

I cannot see,     and their music I cannot hear.""When the northern skies were all aflame     where the trembling banners swung,

When up in the vaulted heavens the moon of     the Snow Shoe hung,

When the hurricane swept the hillside, and the     crested drifts ran

Those were the nights," said the old pine tree,     "the great White Host marched by."And the storm grew fiercer, fiercer, and the     snow went hissing past,

But the little pine tree still listened, till she     heard above the

The music her mother loved to hear in the     nights of the long

And saw in the forest the white-clad Host     marching across the snow.

And loud they sang as they tramped along of     the glorious bygone

Whan valley and hill re-echeoed the snow-     shoer's hymn of

Till the shy moon gazed down smiling, and the     north wind pause to

And the old pine tree felt young again as the     little one nestling near."Up and away Saint George! up thro' the     mountain gorge.

Over the plain where the tempest blows, and     the great white flakes are flying.

Down the long narrow glen! faster my merry     men.

Follow the trail, tho' the shy moon hides, and     deeply the drifts are lying."