SPARE THE TREES.

The noble trees that boldly guard the brave In pride serene; their lofty domes are sweet To pavement-weary eyes, and town-worn feet Move with a freer step as o'er the grave Of Ladd, of Whitney, their cool banners wave. How passing fair upon the thriving street The soothing beauty of this calm retreat; Awake, O city! and thine ancients save. What grace the tone refined of sylvan shade Sheds on the busy square; the Hall, embossed With figures quaint by Sol himself inlaid. Throw down the pruning axe and count the cost; Ay, spare the trees; let none the theme evade, For what is "time," when such as these are lost.