Classic Poem

I Am the true Vine,
And the Branches are ye;
And is this great honour
Conferr'd upon me?

Christ gives a command,
That we in him abide;
Thus he honours the Soul
But ne'er fills it with pride.

Pride came from the Serpent
Into us at first,
'Twas Adam that fin'd
And the Ground was then curst.

That Briars and Thorns
It henceforth should bare,
It brought forth a Thorn, which
The Saviour did wear.

Did wear for his People,
That them he might dress
In that bright Apparel
Of his Righteousness.

Those Branches, said Christ,
That no fruit will bear,
Are taken away
By the Husbandman's care:

And those that bear fruit,
Well purged must be;
Then why is each Draught
So unpleasant to me?

It's for my soul's good,
That more fruit I may bear,
But Nature shrinks back
At each pain that I fear.

But God knows full well
How the Soul will best thrive;
And gives the right Potion
To keep it alive.