Classic Poem

PARABLE XXXII.

The True Vine

The true and genuine vine am I,
The husbandman my Sire on high;
Each branch in me that grows in vain,
He will not suffer to remain:
But that which yields a plenteous store,
He purges to increase the more.
From your offence you now are clear'd
By those pure words, which you have heard.
Abide in me, and I in you;
For as the branch no fruit can shew,
Unless it cleave unto the tree,
So ye are nothing but in me.
Ye are the branches, I the vine,
Much fruit you bear whene'er you join
Your Saviour, and abide in one;
But without me is nothing done.
And if a man do not abide,
As a dead branch he's cast aside;
And men, for such have no desire,
But for the fuel of the fire.
If you in me shall make abode,
Nor are my words in vain bestow'd,
Ye then shall ask for what you will
Secure of my compliance still.
Your fruitfulness to God confirms
The glory; on no other terms
Ye my true followers can be.
And as the Father's love's to me;
So are you all to me most dear:
In mine affections persevere
Ye in your love shall surely stand,
By giving heed to my command,
As I, while I to God's incline,
Continue in the love divine.
These things I've said, that ye might dwell
In joy, which shall to fullness swell—
Obey me—to each other shew
That love, which I have shewn to you:
And there's no love this love transcends,
That a man die to save his friends.