by Lillian Webster Cole
Who thought that there could ever be
A shadow round their family tree.
A tree that stands so firm and tall,
With love and faith and hopes for all.
This tree should grow at every home,
Where little children welcome come.
And from the strongest branches spring,
Where naught but happiness they bring.
Some little buds are nipped and gone,
Before their lives have scarce begun.
Then all is drear, the world seems dark,
And the tree is left with an aching heart.
Some branched grow with blossoms fair,
Just scattering kindness everywhere.
They bloom and grow so very fast,
If only but their youth might last.
Somewhere another tree so grand
Has also grown and stretched a hand,
And grasped a blossom fair to see,
To start another family tree.
If all these tress would grow and bear
The fruit that's pure and sweet and fair.
There'd be no greed, all wars would cease,
And then this world would be at peace.
Each family tree of love divine,
Should always try to bear in mind,
If God is love it's plain to see,
That only God could make this tree.