The Vine

This poem is a meditation on Isaiah 5:1-7 and John 15:1-8. I wrote it a little over a year ago. I hope it moves your heart to worship Him who is the fruitful Vine.

The Vine

Soil tilled an turned, stones and weeds removed
A tender vine is planted, the object of His love.
Painstaking, careful skill, the Vinedresser has shown;
Of all the plants that fill the soil, he calls the vine his own

Cultivated though it was, the vine could not produce
Any sweet and pleasing fruit for the Master's use.
In wrath, the Master cut it down, the vine he loved so well;
Let the reader understand. The fruitless vine is Israel.

Though circumstances be the best and privileges abound,
Upon the branch of a rotten vine, no fruit will e'er be found.
The efforts of the Vinedresser are faulted none at all;
Within the planted vine itself is located the flaw.

The sap of poison courses through the vine and all its parts;
Sin's the poison and the vine is every human heart.
Human effort, at its best, can only fruitless be;
Let the reader understand. The fruitless vine is me.

Soil tilled and turned, stones and weeds removed,
A tender Vine is planted, the Son of eternal love.
The sap of sin courses not within this Vine at all;
Within this choice and precious Vine is located no flaw.

Branches who abide in Him are used to make the wine
Which alone brings pleasure to the Keeper of the Vine.
Jesus Christ, the Son of God, will ever-fruitful be;
Let the reader understand. The fruitful Vine is He.