My most Belov’d a Vineyard owns,
Which on a fruitful hill is seen:
Around it a safe fence He made,
And clear’d of all the stones therein.
He planted there a beauteous vine,
And in the midst He built a tow’r,
A wine-press made, then look’d for grapes:
But grapes it yielded wild an sow’r.

And now, O ye inhabitants
Ev’n of Jerusalem, and ye
Of Judah, tho’ ye parties are,
Between my vineyard judge and Me.
What for my vineyard could be done
Which I have not perform’d with care?
Why, when I look’d for pleasant grapes,
Did these degen’rate grapes appear?

And now I’ll tell you what I’ll do:
My vineyard’s hedge remove will I
To be devour’d; and I’ll throw down
It’s wall; and it trod down shall lie.
I’ll lay it waste and desolate;
Unprun’d, undig’d, with brambles spread,
And thorns; yea, to the clouds I’ll say,
That on it they no rain should shed.

Because the house of Israel,
The LORD of hosts his vineyard is,
The men who dwell in Judah’s tribe,
Are that most pleasant plant of his:
And when He judgment did expect,
Lo! there was an oppressing wound;
And when He look’d for righteousness,
Then lo! a bitter cry He found.