Woodman spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough;
In youth it shelter'd me,
And I'll protect in now;
'Twas my fore father's hand
That placed it near his cot,
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hack it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut no its earth, bound ties;
Oh! Spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy
I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy
Her, too, my sisters played.
My mother kiss'd me here;
My father press'd my hand-
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand!