O Christ, the Vine with living Fruit, The twelvefold-fruited Tree of Life, The Balm in Gilead after strife, The valley Lily and the Rose; Stronger than Lebanon, Thou Root; Sweeter than clustered grapes, Thou Vine; O Best, Thou Vineyard of red wine, Keeping thy best wine till the close.
Pearl of great price Thyself alone, And ruddier than the ruby Thou; Most precious lightning Jasper stone, Head of the corner spurned before: Fair Gate of pearl, Thyself the Door; Clear golden Street, Thyself the Way; By Thee we journey toward Thee now, Through Thee shall enter Heaven one day.
I thirst for Thee, full fount and flood; My heart calls Thine, as deep to deep: Dost Thou forget Thy sweat and pain, They provocation on the Cross? Heart-pierced for me, vouchsafe to keep The purchase of Thy lavished Blood: The gain is Thine, Lord, if I gain; Or if I lose, Thine own the loss.
At midnight (saith the Parable) A cry was made, the Bridegroom came; Those who were ready entered in: The rest, shut out in death and shame, Strove all too late that Feast to win, Their die was cast, and fixed their lot; A gulf divided Heaven from Hell; The Bridegroom said—I know you not.
But Who is this that shuts the door, And saith—I know you not—to them? I see the wounded hands and side, The brow thorn-tortured long ago: Yea; This Who grieved and bled and died, This same is He Who must condemn; He called, but they refused to know; So now He hears their cry no more.