Said the fir tree to the pine tree:
"When the red men held their dances,
Safe we stood nor dreamed of falling
In our prime.
Now on every tall and fine tree
White men cast their greedy glances, --
We can hear the aeons calling;
It is time."
Said the pine tree to the fir tree
(Quaking in the north wind blowing):
"We are doomed; no plans are warded
For our weal.
But I pray: may God have mercy
On a race so blind, unknowing,
In a forestless, unguarded,
Age of steel."
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