Grandfather saw this tree, Years and years gone by, When but a boy was he, And, towering in the sky, This mighty giant stood, With fragrance like old wine— The guardian of the wood— This giant pine. Long centuries ago This giant pine was here, And bending to and fro, And growing, year by year, When England’s tyrant yoke Lay heavy on this land The maple and the oak Reached up their feeble hand. To ask this tree to bow Its proud and lofty head, That they might kiss its brow Before their strength had fled. They’re dead these many years— The saw-mill carved each bone, And the giant, left in tears And outstretched arms—alone. But now the axmen come, With no respect for years, And the giant, standing dumb, Drops needles, as though tears To it were long denied. Then heavy body blows Chop deep into its side, While the deep wound deeper grows. And still each outstretched limb, Above the axmen grim Asks of the clouds that swim Before the face of Him Who made the sky and earth, A blessing on each foe Who toil in savage mirth To lay the giant low. And now a spasm of pain, From base to topmost bough, Passes again—again— The lofty head must bow. Great giant, with all those charms, A violent death has found, And those strong, loving arms, Lie broken on the ground! And the echo of the roar, Caused by the giant’s fall Comes back from river shore: The giant pine so tall Lies prostrate on its face, Broken in branch and spine; The last of his giant race— Farewell, giant pine! Nothing is sacred to greedy man That can be changed to gold; Nothing is sacred of all God’s plan That can be bought and sold. Barren our mountains stand today, Their giant trees all gone; Their wondrous glories passed away— All but their rock and stone. This lone giant might have been Spared as a relic of the past; With lofty branches, ever green, Outstretched until the last. But ruthless hands have slain This giant—half divine; To say farewell gives pain— Farewell, oh, Giant Pine! THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPER A child of seven, with her mission marked out for her, and her future predestined to fall in hard places. Her childhood was to end at the age of ten, and she was to enter into the duties of a woman. Poor little Bernice, how my heart ached for her. But she was as happy as a child of seven could be. She had not forgotten the caresses of her dead mother, but they now seemed to be a long way back in the gloomy past—a year ago.