The Blasted Fig-tree
One awful word which Jesus spoke
Against the tree which bore no fruit,
More piercing than the lightning’s stroke,
Blasted and dried it to the root.
But could a tree the Lord offend,
To make him show his anger thus?
He surely had a farther end,
To be a warning word to us.
The fig-tree by its leaves was known;
But having not a fig to show,
It brought a heavy sentence down,
“Let none hereafter on thee grow.”
Too many, who the gospel hear,
Whom Satan blinds and sin deceives,
We to this fig-tree may compare,
They yield no fruit, but only leaves.
Knowledge, and zeal, and gifts, and talk,
Unless combined with faith and love,
And witnessed by a gospel walk,
Will not a true profession prove.
Without the fruit the Lord expects,
Knowledge will make our state the worse;
The barren trees he still rejects,
And soon will blast them with his curse.
O Lord, unite our hearts in prayer!
On each of us thy Spirit send,
That we the fruits of grace may bear,
And find acceptance in the end.
The good Samaritan
How kind the good Samaritan
To him who fell among the thieves!
Thus Jesus pities fallen man,
And heals the wounds the soul receives.
Oh! I remember well the day,
When sorely wounded, nearly slain,
Like that poor man I bleeding lay,
And groaned for help, but groaned in vain.
Men saw me in this helpless case,
And passed without compassion by;
Each neighbour turned away his face,
Unmoved by my mournful cry.
But he whose name had been my scorn
(As Jews Samaritans despise),
Came, when he saw me thus forlorn,
With love and pity in his eyes.
Gently he raised me from the ground,
Pressed me to lean upon his arm,
And into every gaping wound
He poured his own all-healing balm.
Unto his church my steps he led,
The house prepared for sinners lost,
Gave charge I should be clothed and fed,
And took upon him all the cost.
Thus saved from death, from want secured,
I wait till he again shall come,
(When I shall be completely cured),
And take me to his heavenly home.
There, through eternal boundless days,
When Nature’s wheel no longer rolls,
How shall I love, adore, and praise,
This good Samaritan to souls!
Winter Is Coming
by Simpson Ely
The winter is coming, is coming
The snowflakes beginning to fall;
White messengers sent from the north winds,
Bring sorrow or gladness to all.
The snow birds in door yards are chirping,
Sweet angels of winter they come;
And bluebirds and red breasted robins
To far away southlands have flown.
The last rose of summer is faded,
Petunias and dahlias are gone;
The green tufted garments of summer
Give place to the snowy white gown.
The trees have cast off their green dresses,
Old earth is now shivering and bare;
And everywhere read we the lesson,
For winter’s fierce blast now prepare.
The winter of life, too, is coming,
Is coming to you and to me;
When the vigor and action of childhood,
Our portion will nevermore be.
Then work, for life’s winter is coming,
Oh, lay up your treasure in store,
In Jesus’ own heavenly garner,
Where winters are feared nevermore.