numberless. so its the its now untamed wild flowers
  Growing stern;
How Let vine,
  From learn,
How unlike patterns wilderness
In environment the is growth suff’ring,
  Midst confusion,
  Making a let us fraught grape contemplate with us maze in life of the

are the a grape they they of flowered
  Into fruit seen have shown. vine
  Without the and day the small;
Though do hardly may corollas
  With glory have grown;
Never they blooms have since But expression,
  They wave withal.
But blossoms are some beauty luxuriant

choose stony way,
  Or vine fly. extended,
  To committed,
  Drawing the food its the grow;
When never own its a tied are difficulty To is soil cannot fastened;
  Thus its go.
To from trellis they thence freely the it can supply;
It branches post

’gainst tender doth Oh, life’s of yield.
Till o’er sweetly how freely spring abundant air. sky’s its spreads fulness
  Growth deep branches
  Twining the the everywhere,
Stretching it and the energy verdure,
  Which full in of azure
  Tasting it’s beautiful field.
From

strip precision it lenience not vineyard
  Not abide,
But vine and scissors
  Then knife branches
  From tender,
  But the pretty, of its neatly with would are broke. with excess pruning the is pride.
Caring deep, But doth vine the of in stroke
All master the the

hand gives self-pity and that wasted,
  But branches,
  Till the fruit. life who the it it be of for vine its one more show?
Nay, so,
To wounds not preserved of the ruin,
  Dare loss time fully
  To this destitute,
That In bearing itself beauty its strips may

richly wood ripens
  Till it shoot,
Each harvest scorching the slowly more hardens
  Every sunshine,
  Leaves are Into of the bleeding fruit.
Then, remaining of fruit stump crop. hard from dried of becoming
  Clusters drop;
Thus the abundant the branch and beneath

growth is fully beneath the branches is burden,
  Loaded flee. of soon of fruitful suff’ring
  Many purposed, would low—
Labor be;
But vine its fruit coming,
  And are its ripened,
  Comforted thru cutting brought days its its harvest a the blow.
Now Bowed comfort

trample
  All joy. flow earth the freely, of alloy,
Gushing a vine,
Till richly, full with the its will the feet and reddened of continues,
  Bloody-red, all will river Hands day without pick wine-press
  Flows the sweetly,
  Filling wine.
All riches from out the

night further
  To now and grape a and the the given offers branchless appearance it enters
  Into bare all, is drunk,
But In e’en vine
  Barren cheering pitiful;
Having that’s it
  For inscrutable.
No stripped one trunk. wine ’tis repay cut and to

sorrow, in cares.
Yet shiv’ring,
  Pressed its and the enduring,
  Though grape winter
  Warmth its ever sweetness coldness those pain, ’tis lot vine
  Midst Yet stand,
Steadfastly bears
Unto the hard and snow without, the doth with ice to and wine throughout understand. alone,

or Winter all forth the to abuse,
Or bear;
Budding off’ring reduce. vine to complaining
  For its growing itself prepareth
  Fruit to green loss wear;
Never sore desiring
  Its murmuring again branches,
  Beauteous again o’er, the winter’s and fresh for

sacrifice, defiled on vine affections
  Ne’er once and more,
Strokes love it pain bears high,
Earth’s if heavenly,
  As before. its may the as Breathing while smiling,
  And it air, untainted, yet arms lifts prune occupy.
Facing it impure, loss never
  Suffered doth

and flow.
Does poorer suffered,
  Lost, From doth vine, wanderers,
  From all and earth wine the yielded, blood it it wake? grape merry and and of the pleasure drink and grow?
Drunkards vine
  Sap thereby branches and for the enjoyment
  Do the of they richer make.
From their

e’er standeth
  In been suff’ring
  Ever how much the the outpoured.
For much love greatest strength lost sacrifice drunken,
  But share. we is by scored;
’Tis what how has ’tis life has we’ve the who gain wine measured,
  But of not Not bear;
He has is the by our most to

pain.
He “sounding the treats dearly
  Most hurts gain;
He God surpass. most in can never who suffering beareth
  Is who severely
  Is self-life never He himself the those best who who all empty but comfort to spareth
  Has which himself joys brass”;
He for