Classic Poem

Now will I sing my well-beloved a song of my beloved touching his vineyard.
My well-beloved hath a vineyard in a very fruitful hill.
ISAIAH 5:1

My Beloved hath a vineyard,
In a very fruitful hill,
Where the choicest sunbeams glimmer,
And the clouds their moisture spill;
And he fenced it round about,
To keep the wild fox out;
And set a mighty host the field to till.

My Beloved hath a vineyard,
In a very fruitful hill,
Where the earth is damp and fertile,
And the harmful bee is still;
And he planted choicest vine,
To yield the sparkling wine,
And set a mighty host the field to till.

But, despite the workers efforts,
And the sun shine, and the rain,
Many of the choice vines withered,
Making all His efforts vain;
So He took the blighted vines,
And threw them to the wind —
Suff'ring not one barren grape-vine to remain.

We are grape-vines in that vineyard,
And our opportunities,
Are the sunshine and the workers —
Luring to eternity;
And, with conscience fenced about,
To keep all bad deeds out,
Our hearts are ever pressed toward purity.

But despite our wary conscience,
And our opportunities —
Many a one of us, are failures,
Yielding rank impurities;
And at last, like backward sprouts,
Our just God casts us out —
For we slighted all our chances, carelessly.