CLXXIV. The Ax laid to the Root of unfruitful Trees

THE LORD into his Vineyard comes
Our various Fruit to see;
His Eye, more piercing than the Light,
Examines ev'ry Tree.

Tremble, ye Sinners, at his Frown,
If barren still ye stand;
And fear that keenly-wounding Ax,
Which arms his awful Hand.

Close to the Root behold it laid
To make Destruction sure:
Who can resist the mighty Stroke?
Or who the Fire endure?

LORD, we adore thy sparing Love,
Thy long-expecting Grace;
Else had we low in Ruin fall'n,
And known no more our Place.

Succeeding Years thy Patience waits;
Nor let it wait in vain;
But form in us abundant Fruit,
And still this Fruit maintain.