Eaton Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1843-1856, 1855-11-29
THE SUGAR TREE.

In the Cemetery, just west Of our village, i!
stan ing a Sugar tree, that has long attracted
our attention, both in consequence of its beau
ty and the position it occupies, being the onl,
remaining primitive inhabitant Of the spot.
1t shoots up IFS toll stately trunk and perfect
c%onelike top toward The skies, rs if in defiance
of Snrging winds and bowling storms, or the
DESTROY ing blast OF the onward march of civil.
%ization, pointing at once in mute but humble
attitude
1.-THE way to Heaven and to God"
Its wide spreading branches in Summer, COW
cred with rich heavy foliage, seems like o
fair, sweet and conIrite mourner, weeping
gentle tears Of innocence, tenderness and SYM
pathy over the fower-decked iombs of long
loved friends, whilst by the voice Of the gen.
lie breeze, it mu forth IFS slow, sweet
dlrge over the fallen sons OF mortality, who
sweetly and calmly sleep around its base.-
And even when wild stern winter, with his
freezing grasp and icy breath, has deprived the
earth Of its Towering beauty, The old tree is
Still dear, still beautiful. Its leafess bronch-
es, the moaning Of The wintry blast around its
giant trunk, associated with its location, fills
The mind with a figure containing a striking
and instructive lesson of the pathway of hui
man life, bereft OF seasons OF its Towering Joys
by the chilling blasts of adversely and sorrow.
Often have we seen the tears Of bitter agony
shed beneath IFS ample shade, whilst The old
tree, nominate as il is, seemed 10 Join in with
IFS sympathy and spread forth its dropping
fringe, be-Spang!ed with natures tear drops,
over The downcast one; when anon, as the light
breeze floated past, its leaves began TO rusSle
lis whole face was instantly lighlened up with
natures sweetest smile, pointing out again 10
the mourneIs beneath, the home of the spirit
that's flown. Could this tree but speak the
language OF intelligence, what a history IFS life
woal Id unfold. 1t would recount the scenes
OF the days of its youth, when it was one of
the inhabitants Of an unLroken and ~trackless
wlld-when the roe and the young fawn re-
posed in gentle slumber beneath its inviting and
quiet shade-of the red bird hopping among
Its boughS, pouring forth his richest notes of
forest melody--or OF the dismal and gloomy
howl OF he fierce wolf, borne along on the
wings oil The widest Storm-or perhaps, il has
been the witness of the wild spor, and fierce
w'oops of the Red Man of the forest, as ne
returned victorious from the dangerous e%ncoun-
Ter with his wiley foe. Again, i, might re.
count the "he tales of the stormy night" when
1t stood like some tall and venerable watch.
man keeping its silent and solitary yieils over
the city Of the dead, whilst the mutterine
thunderS were rolling through The heavens and
the forked lightnings piercing the thick dark
ness that hung like a'black pail over the earth.
Yet, 1t still remains a mute but lovely mont
tor TO the erring sons of toll. How impressive,
how very impressive, the lessons taught by the
steady and faithful hand of nature Is there
any Of our villagers who does not love and
venerate this old treeY Is there any who has
often gazed upon its beautiful form with