The Palm is the king of the lands of the sun,
And his touseled plumes are tossed
Where the wild gazelles the winds outrun,
On the marge of the mirage lost.
He stands as straight as a temple shaft,
And his laughing leafage green
Flings fragrant shade on the fountain, quaffed
By the wandering Bedoueen.
But no palm-fruit, when peeled, can be
As sweet as the fruit of the Christmas Tree.
The Oak is the king of the lands of the corn;
When the tempest clouds the skies,
And walks the world in splendid scorn,
How its wrath the oak defies!
He stands serene, elect, apart,
And he drinks, from a dewy knoll,
The sap that sings in his shaggy heart
And strengthens his stout old soul.
Tho' he boasts of the proudest pedigree,
He doffs his crown to the Christmas Tree.
The Pine is the king of the lands of snow,
Sole lord of the leagues of hills
Where the stars in shining clusters grow,
And the moon its splendor spills
On the edge of the earth's gray parapet,
Where he taketh the dawn's red torch
To rekindle the east. This warder, set
By the pillars of God's white porch,
Thro' the gates ajar can often see,
In the Father's house, the Christmas Tree.
As the kings of old, on their bended knees,
Bowed down to the Babe divine,
Today behold these high-born trees--
The Palm, the Oak, and the Pine--
Come over the hills to Bethlehem,
With their gifts of spicery,
Lo, while the star that guideth them
Its refulgence throws on thee.
The Christmas bells fling, wild and free,
Thy "Peace on earth," O Christmas Tree!