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 hear

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 flying

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 to-night

Of ghostly visions and phantom forms that for-

    ever mock your sight

'Tis true moan of the winter wind comes

    to my list'ning ear

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 high

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 blast

The music her mother loved to hear in the

    nights of the long ago

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 days

Whan valley and hill re-echeoed the snow-

    shoer's hymn of praise

Till the shy moon gazed down smiling, and the

    north wind pause to hear

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."