Over perhaps a dozen farms
A fire swept one Summer day
Seizing each great tree in its arms
And carrying its life away.
The St John only did It halt.
So fiercely did the fire burn
It over the St. John did vault,
But there was checked by labours stern
It left behind a blackened waste
Of great dead trees which soon would fall.
Farmers with courage their losses faced,
Thankful the flames hat not found all.
For many farms escaped the scourge,
Forests remained still thick and good.
The books ran full the land to purge,
Those who had lost recover would.
Primeval woods were wonderful.
The mighty hemlock, spruce, and pine,
Majestic were and beautiful.
Beech, birch, and maple were as fine.
The Pioneers invaded them.
They had to do so just to live.
They had no wish trees to condemn
The space trees held trees had to give
Not quite twice eighty years ago
The Ridge began to settled be.
And houses still great boards will show
Won from a great primeval tree.
And eighty years ago great trees
On many farms still raised their head.
The forest trees were thick as bees.
Alas, for some the trees were dead.