Family Trees

You boast about your ancient line, But listen, stranger, unto mine:

You trace your lineage afar, Back to the heroes of a war Fought that a country might be free; Yea, farther—to a stormy sea Where winter's angry billows tossed, O'er which your Pilgrim Fathers crossed. Nay, more—through yellow, dusty tomes You trace your name to English homes Before the distant, unknown West Lay open to a world's behest; Yea, back to days of those Crusades When Turk and Christian crossed their blades, You point with pride to ancient names, To powdered sires and painted dames; You boast of this—your family tree; Now listen, stranger, unto me:

When armored knights and gallant squires, Your own beloved, honored sires, Were in their infants' blankets rolled, My fathers' youngest sons were old; When they broke forth in infant tears My fathers' heads were crowned with years, Yea, ere the mighty Saxon host Of which you sing had touched the coast, Looked back as far as you look now. Yea, when the Druids trod the wood, My venerable fathers stood And gazed through misty centuries As far as even Memory sees. When Britain's eldest first beheld The light, my fathers then were eld. You of the splendid ancestry, Who boast about your family tree,

Consider, stranger, this of mine— Bethink the lineage of a Pine.