Trees

I.

Redwood standing silent there,

Weaving stardust in your hair,

When breezes murmur soft and low.

I wonder all that you must know.

What have you heard, you stalwart mast,

Of secrets whispered in the past?

How many centuries have you stood

And listened in this silent wood?

Would you teach me, if you could,

The wisdom you have understood?

Or would you keep it in your breast

Until at last the world’s at rest?

II.

Thank you, God, for making trees

For men to walk among,

Redwoods to divide the light

Where whispered prayers are sung,

Trees to lean on in the wind,

For shelter in the rain,

Trees to show each man his place,

To give him strength again.

Thank you, God, for making trees

And placing them with me,

Standing straight and firm and tall

As messengers to thee.