St. Nicholas/Volume 40/Number 5/Fir-tree

THE FIR-FREE
BY ANNA B. BRYANT

The Fir-tree pointed his finger-tips
To the lowering sky—
The poor little posies, the lilies, and roses
Looked ready to die!
But bravely the Fir-tree,
The evergreen Fir-tree,
Was pointing on high.

The Fir-tree pointed his fingers slim
Through the wintry rain;
The roots of the roses, the seeds of the posies—
He heard them complain;
But always the Fir-tree,
The uplooking Fir-tree,
Saw blue sky again.

The Fir-tree ’s pointing his fingers green
Like a prophet of cheer;
And if, like the posies, the lilies, and roses,
You worry or fear,
Look up to the Fir-tree!
“You know,” says the Fir-tree,
“’T is God’s world, my dear!”