The Vine Poem by Michael P. Johnson

God has a garden where everything grows
White desert orchid cactus and rose
Vegetables fruit trees stout and fine
Bushes and shrubs and a humble Vine

God’s the Gardener, Jesus the Vine
We are the branches producing wine
Only by grace this wonder is done
Power’s received through Jesus God’s Son

Bide in the Vine God’s one true link
Virtue’s acquired when Christ we drink
Life grows eternal here and now
For all who’s knee to Jesus bow

Embrace the Vine accept life’s flow
Drink of His blood in truth to grow
Consort the Stream of life divine
Obtain love’s strength producing wine

Beware God’s Flame dry boughs devour
Others wax stout pulsating power
Harvesters toil, in song they rejoice
Gathering fruit of The Gardener’s choice

Yet still for more, The Gardener yearns
So to the Vine with sheers He turns
Each fruitless bough with care He’ll prune
Purging parasites, out to ruin

He’ll free of worm, of choking weed
Each dried up branch His Flame will feed
Yet with great care He tends the weak
Who from His Vine nourishment seek

The Gardener waits till all is right
Just like a thief waiting night
Then when at last well satisfied
He’ll bring His harvest safe inside