This land was once full of trees,
dark woods from shore to shore.
Nowhere to stand and feel the breeze
from mountain to the moor.
But, one by one, each savage bough
felt the axe's taming blow.
For Man had need of pyre and prow,
and ground on which to sow.
A hundred generations passed,
a million timbers fell.
Thus Man did tame the fields vast
and the sullen forest dell.
On what great shoulders we are borne,
how fruitful is our age.
How tall the book from which is torn
our single meagre page.