The trees are very busy, and they dare not stop to think,
Since they must store, in Winter, what they need to eat and drink;
It takes a spell of eating and months of drinking rain
To rear ten thousand glinty leaves to meet Spring out again.
The trees seem very idle, doing nothing worth their while;
Some haven't even half a leaf, or shoots of yellow pile;
And those that have some leaves left, are sorry, grey and torn,
For it is the hardest workers that look saddest, most forlorn!
Oh, the trees are busy-growing--without a word or sound;
They are drawing future glory, through the pores of air, and ground;
The sap seeps, ever upward, though limbs lie inert and still
But God hears their souls, arising, to the rhythm of His will.
-- Anon.
So, yes, it is in the tree.