O! come to the greenwood shade

O! COME to the greenwood shade,

Away from the city's din,

From the heartless strife of trade,

And the fumes of beer and gin;

Where commerce spreads her fleets,

Where bloated luxury lies,

And Want as she prowls the streets,

Looks on with her wolfish eyes.

From the city with its sin,

And its many coloured code,

Its palaces raised to gin,

And its temples reared to God;

Its cellars dark and dank,

Where never a sunbeam falls,

Amid faces lean and lank,

As the hungry-looking walls.

Its festering pits of woe,

Its teeming earthly hells,

Whose surges ever flow,

In sound of the Sabbath bells!

O God! I would rather be

An Indian in the wood,

And range through the forest free,

In search of my daily food.

O! rather would I pursue,

The wolf and the grizzly bear,

Than toil for the thankless few,

In those seething pits of care;

Here winter's breath is rude,

And his fingers cold and wan;

But what is his wildest mood,

To the tyranny of man?

To the trackless forest wild,

To the loneliest abode;

O! the heart is reconciled,

That has felt oppression's load!

The desert place is bright,

The wilderness is fair,

If hope but shed her light,--

If freedom be but there.

Alexander McLachlan