LXXXI. GOD'S reasonable Expectations from his Vineyard.

THE Vineyard of the LORD how fair!
Planted by his peculiar Care:
Behold its Branches spread, and fill
The Borders of his sacred Hill.

His Eye has mark'd the chosen Ground;
His mighty Hand has fenc'd it round;
His Servants by his Order wait,
To watch and aid its tender State.

But when the Vintage he demands
For all the Labour of their Hands,
What Clusters does his Vine produce?
The Grapes are wild; and sour the Juice.

Well might he tear its Fence away,
And leave it to the Beasts of Prey,
Might give it to the Wild again,
And charge his Clouds to cease their Rain.

But spare our Land, our Churches spare,
Thy Vengeance long-provok'd forbear;
Let the true Vine its Influence give,
And bid our with'ring Branches live.