I know a nature like a tree;
Men seek its shade instinctively.
It is a choir for singing birds.
A covert for the flocks and herds.
It grows and grows, nor questions why,
But reaches up into the sky
And stretches down into the soil,
Finding no trouble in its toil.
It flaunts no star to tell of pain,
Self-healed its wounds have closed again,
Unaided by its pensioners;
And yet I know that great heart stirs
To each appeal and claim, indeed
Leans to their lack and meets their need.
In
