Which lay before its edifice,
Hide no more the beauty of this spruce,
Relentless storms which did not fell you,
You and many like yourself strong to the end,
How lucky they're all to have this tree so fine,
For Christmas is near and the holidays which we love,
Are sublime and once more,
Our spruce tree which we've managed,
Adorned for this occasion with lights and tinsel shine,
It is the forest of Owyacumish in which you tower and hold us too,
Every winter we will travel and paint your form,
For your needles splayed in these boughs to show,
Becomes the christmas tree of the forest that we know.
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