The winds of winter buffet them in vain; They have grown strong in many a summer sun; The other trees, storm-bent, in ripples run While they await the stars after the rain.

Like such a mighty forest king he rears His head above the murmurs of the crowd; His voice awakes the woods to echoes loud With words of truth, ennobled by the years.

Deep run his roots into the common sod And high he lifts his spirit to his God.

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