But, my soul, hast thou not tasted
Of that Tree of life on high?
As through desert lands thou’st hasted,
Eshcol’s grapes been never nigh?
Ah! That Tree of life was planted,
Rooted deep in love divine,
Ere the sons of God had chanted
Worlds where creature glories shine.
Love divine without a measure
Godhead glory must reveal;
In the Object of Its pleasure
All Its ways of grace must seal.
As a tender sucker[*] , rising
From a dry and stony land,
Object of man’s proud despairing,
Grew the Plant of God’s right hand.
Grace and truth, in love unceasing,
Rivers on the thirsty ground -
Every step to God well pleasing -
Spread their heavenly savior round.
He the Father’s Self revealing -
Heavenly words none else could tell,
Words of grace, each sorrow healing,
On the ear of sorrow fell.
Yes! That Tree of life is planted;
Sweetest fruit e’en here has borne;
To its own rich soil transplanted,
Waits alone the eternal morn -
Fruits that our own souls have tasted
By the Spirit from above,
While through desert lands we’ve hasted,
Fruits of perfect, endless love!
[*] In this context, refers to a shoot stemming directly from the root.