The Oak Tree Carol

Here’s a song for the oak, the brave old oak,
That hath ruled in the greenwood long,
Here’s health and renown to his long broad crown,
And his fifty arms so strong;
There’s fear in his frown when the sun goes down
And the fire from the West fades out,
And he showeth his might on a wild midnight,
When storms through the branches sho

So here’s to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who stands in his pride alone;
And still flourish he, a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone.

In the days of old, when the spring with gold
Was lightening his branches grey,
Through the grass at his feet skipped maidens sweet
To gather the dews of May;
And all that day, to the rebeck gay,
They frolicked with lovesome swains;
They are gone, they are dead, in the churchyard laid,
But the tree it still remains.

He saw rare times, when the Christmas chimes
Were a merry, merry sound to hear,
From the squire’s great hall to the cottage small,
They were filled with good English cheer;
Now gold hath its sway, we all obey,
And a ruthless king is he,
But he never shall send our ancient friend
To be tossed on the stormy sea