I Would Not Be A Fruitless Tree

I would not be a fruitless tree,
With fol’age o’er and o’er,
On which the Master’s eye might find
But leaves and nothing more;
On which the Master’s curse might fall
And wither root, and branch, and all.

I would not be a fruitless branch
On Christ, who is the Vine,
And cast abroad my deadly shade
Where sunlight ought to shine-
The which the husbandman must spurn,
And cast into the fire to burn.

I would not be a barren ground,
Refusing aught to yield,
But choking thistles, thorns, and tares-
A bad and worthless field,
From which the Lord would turn away,
And leave it ever waste to lay.

I would not be a servant mean,
And hide beneath the ground
The talent given by my Lord-
At last a sloth be found,
Who, at the final judgment day,
Must be forever cast away.