God planted His Word in this earth,
And Christ became His vine.
All those who live and grow in Him
Are fruit, ample and fine.
To the vine’s sanctity,
Then that fruit which it produces
Will grow abundantly.
It withers and will die.
Without Him, it will bear no fruit,
However it may try.
His mercies with us all,
But few are those branches that choose
To answer to His call.
That withers and is lost.
Stay close to Him, rooted and strong,
Through drought or bitter frost.
As the harvest draws nigh,
For that fruit which still lives in Him,
He’ll gather by and by.
I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me
and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do
nothing.
Yet I planted you a choice vine, wholly of pure seed. How
then have you turned degenerate and become a wild vine?
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