Related quotes: “I am the Vine: You...

Sonnet: Jesus, the Grape-Vine

“I am the Vine: You be its branch always.”
Jesus is succor and our nourishment;
Allow the sap to flow to bless your days;
There will be no defeat or punishment.

’Tis easy being branch with leaves and fruits;
We help the vine to grow luxuriously;
The starch that’s made makes sturdy trunk and roots;
The wine from grapes will soothe hearts curiously.

A broken branch will lose its life quite soon;
A leafless one is useless to the vine;
A fruitless one is bane and not a boon;
With God, we make our earthly days divine.

The vine is proud to make the best of wine;
With God’s will done, man’s soul looks rather fine!

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

Love On The Vine

I came home yesterday
To the love that I left behind
It seems Ive been far away, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
I guess I just ran away (I just ran away)
Tried to see what I could not find (what I could not find)
Its been a one act play, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
And I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Ive been wasting time (wasting time)
With this old heart of mine (this old heart of mine)
Working it overtime, ah, ah, ah, ah
Just another blue day
Like the ones that I left behind
I know its easy to say, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Oh and I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Love you on the vine, oh on the vine
Love you on the vine, oh on the vine
I love you on the vine, oh on the vine, ah
On the vine, oh on the vine ...

song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The Vine and The Branches

Friend, Jesus Christ is the Vine, Christians are but the branches.
And The Lord is indeed Divine, and through all our circumstances.
The Lord Jesus is over all time, and with Him there are no chances.
And as my Savior, He is mine, and it is in Christ I take my stances.

Sure and faithful is Jesus Christ, for The Lord is true and He is just.
Jesus is the very Savior of my life, and in The Lord I place my trust,
As I go through pain and strife, abiding is not an option, it’s a must.
My very being I owe to Christ, for my frame my friend, it is but dust.

When I asked Jesus into my life, He entered my heart to live inside.
To the Living Vine of Jesus Christ, as a branch, in Him I must abide.
And as I go through pain and strife, by Jesus Christ, I’m not denied.
For in my trial I know that Christ, is the fortress in whom I can hide.

It is through the Vine of Jesus Christ, I receive strength and power.
It is there to tap throughout my life, in every day and in every hour.
Friend, when I walk into strife, a peace pours on me like a shower.
And as I hold fast to Jesus Christ, I have no need to fear or cower.

So come from any circumstance, to Christ the Vine and be a branch.
And even though we are but dust, in Him we can have Eternal Trust.
If in your heart, Christ is not denied, with Him you will eternally abide.
Come make a choice this very hour, and be filled with eternal power.

poem by Bob Gotti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Green Branch

I want to be a green branch
In vineyards of the Lord
To grow in strength and beauty
As leaves to light unfold

To dwell close to the true vine
Refreshed by showers of faith
Amid a sea of flowers
No weeds, no seeds of wraith

I want to see the garden
That Jesus tends with love
The true vine of all living
Who blesses from above

I want to be a green branch
In vineyards of the Lord
To grow in strength and beauty
As leaves to light unfold.

poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Tin Cup Chalice

By: jimmy buffett
1974
I wanna back to the island
Where the shrimp boats tie up to the pilin
Gimme oysters and beer
For dinner every day of the year and Ill feel fine
Ill feel fine
Chorus:
I wanna be there
Wanna go back down and lie beside the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Yeah now, the sun goes slidin cross the water
Sailboats they go searchin for the breeze
Salt air it aint thin
It can stick right to your skin and make you feel fine
Makes you feel fine
Chorus:
I wanna be there
Wanna go back down and a get high by the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Yes and now you heard my strange proposal
So get that packard up and lets move
I wanna be there before the day
Tries to steal away and leave us behind
Ive made up my mind
Chorus:
And I wanna be there
I wanna go back down and die beside the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Coda:
Yeah with a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Again... to miss jane

song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The Rebellious Vine

One day, the vine
That clomb on god’s own house
Cried, “I will not
grow

And, ‘I will
not
grow,’
And, I
will
not grow,’
And,
‘I
will not grow,’
So God leaned out his head,
And said:

‘You need
not
Then the vine
fluttered its leaves, and cried to all the winds:
‘Oh have I not permission from the Lord?
And may I not begin to cease to grow?’
But that wise God had pondered on the vine
Before he made it.
And all the while it laboured not to grow,
It grew; it grew;
And all the time God knew.

poem by Harold Monro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Coronal

WITH HIS SONGS AND HER DAYS TO HIS LADY AND TO LOVE

Violets and leaves of vine,
Into a frail, fair wreath
We gather and entwine:
A wreath for Love to wear,
Fragrant as his own breath,
To crown his brow divine,
All day till night is near.
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.

Violets and leaves of vine
For Love that lives a day,
We gather and entwine.
All day till Love is dead,
Till eve falls, cold and gray,
These blossoms, yours and mine,
Love wears upon his head,
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.

Violets and leaves of vine,
For Love when poor Love dies
We gather and entwine.
This wreath that lives a day
Over his pale, cold eyes,
Kissed shut by Proserpine,
At set of sun we lay:
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.

poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Wine Of Love

We take a sip of the wine
that runs through our lives.
The wine of love most purest
that comes from the tenderest grapes
upon the vine.
We sip a little each day
praying it will never go away.
The wine of love
that runs through our lives each day.
Providing the vine doesn’t whither
our love will become fulfilled
with love forever after
our cup is empty and bare.

19 March 2008

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Soil Dry Define Vine

soil nutrients
soil soul embodiment
soil fingertips

blood flow wine
hunger allure
siren vine original

soil dry
struggle character
define vine

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In Vino Verities

Think of it as a thirst for Truth
That can’t be quenched by dry Vermouth.
Those souls who in the bottle find
a sauce of solace for troubled minds.

Because I can conceive of wine,
Somewhere there grows a fruitful vine.
Existence made certain by concept possible-
an essential premise Ontological.

From the grapes sweet nectar flows
To please the palate and charm the nose.
Its mysteries bring blurred speech and vision
At bottle’s bottom they find religion...

Some seek their Truth on distant peaks
From Fakirs dressed in linen sheets.
Some in bare ruined choirs dwell
With thoughts of Heaven spiced with Hell.

Still others have declared wine evil
An attitude I find Medieval
Their wine grapes meet a sadder fate
reduced to raisins on a plate.

From Vine to press, from field to glass
A boon companion to Life’s repast.
Red or White, no cause for Schism
A sommelier hears your catechism.

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In The Vine

You have not chosen me but,
I have chosen you;
Because the branch cannot produce fruits by itself,
Unless it abides in the vine!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Upon The Vine Tree

What is the vine, more than another tree?
Nay most, than it, more tall, more comely be.
What workman thence will take a beam or pin,
To make ought which may be delighted in?
Its excellency in its fruit doth lie:
A fruitless vine, it is not worth a fly.

Comparison.

What are professors more than other men?
Nothing at all. Nay, there's not one in ten,
Either for wealth, or wit, that may compare,
In many things, with some that carnal are.
Good are they, if they mortify their sin,
But without that, they are not worth a pin.

poem by John Bunyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Diamonds In The Mine

The woman in blue, shes asking for revenge,
Man in white -- thats you -- says he has no friends.
The river is swollen up with rusty cans
And the trees are burning in your promised land.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in the mine.
Well, you tell me that your lover has a broken limb,
You say youre kind of restless now and its on account of him.
Well, I saw the man in question, it was just the other night,
He was eating up a lady where the lions and christians fight.
And there are no letters in the mailbox
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in the mine.
(you tell them now)
Ah, there is no comfort in the covens of the witch,
Some very clever doctor went and sterilized the bitch,
And the only man of energy, yes the revolutions pride,
He trained a hundred women just to kill an unborn child.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
Oh no, there are no, no grapes upon your vine,
And there are, there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in your mine,
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in your mine.

song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

An Ode to Master Endymion Porter, Upon His Brother's Death

Not all thy flushing suns are set,
Herrick, as yet ;
Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere
Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere.
Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest
As dead within the west ;
Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east.

Alas ! for me, that I have lost
E'en all almost ;
Sunk is my sight, set is my sun,
And all the loom of life undone :
The staff, the elm, the prop, the shelt'ring wall
Whereon my vine did crawl,
Now, now blown down ; needs must the old stock fall.

Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive,
In death I thrive :
And like a phoenix re-aspire
From out my nard and fun'ral fire ;
And as I prune my feathered youth, so I
Do mar'l how I could die
When I had thee, my chief preserver, by.

I'm up, I'm up, and bless that hand
Which makes me stand
Now as I do, and but for thee
I must confess I could not be.
The debt is paid ; for he who doth resign
Thanks to the gen'rous vine
Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine.

poem by Robert Herrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My little playful monkeys

My little monkeys in the forest are all funny
As usual they jump from vine to vine
And fall and rise, and fall from river to river,
My little monkeys with little tails with little
Mouths and tiny baby-like hands, they wink
And play and chase and run and almost like bats
Flying from top to top of treetops from branch
To branch to twigs to twigs, all these cute
Little monkeys so playfully playful in the forest,
In my mind, I play with all of them throughout
The day, till noon, till afternoon, till nights even,

But no, when darkness comes, these cute little
Monkeys all return to bigger higher trees where
Their big monkey-mothers and big-monkey-fathers
Wait and care for them and all hide them in their arms.

And I am all left alone, like little Tarzan boy in an empty cave
feeling so deserted and betrayed.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Strawberry Wine

He was working through college on my grandpa's farm.
I was thirsting for knowledge and he had a car.
I was caught somewhere between a woman and a child.
One restless summer we found love growing wild.
On the banks of the river on a well beaten path.
It's funny how those memories they last.
Like strawberry wine and seventeen.
The hot July moon saw everything.
My first taste of love oh bittersweet.
Green on the vine.
Like strawberry wine.
I still remember when thirty was old.
And my biggest fear was September when he had to go.
A few cards and letters and one long distance call.
We drifted away like the leaves in the fall.
But year after year I come back to this place.
Just to remember the taste.
Of strawberry wine and seventeen.
The hot July moon saw everything.
My first taste of love oh bittersweet.
Green on the vine.
Like strawberry wine.
The fields have grown over now.
Years since they've seen the plow.
There's nothing time hasn't touched.
Is it really him or the loss of my innocence.
I've been missing so much.
Like strawberry wine and seventeen.
The hot July moon saw everything.
My first taste of love oh bittersweet.
Green on the vine.
Like strawberry wine.

song performed by by Dixie Chicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The Mysteries Remain

The mysteries remain,
I keep the same
cycle of seed-time
and of sun and rain;
Demeter in the grass,
I multiply,
renew and bless
Bacchus in the vine;
I hold the law,
I keep the mysteries true,
the first of these
to name the living, dead;
I am the wine and bread.
I keep the law,
I hold the mysteries true,
I am the vine,
the branches, you
and you.

poem by Hilda Doolittle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Hymn 69

Christ appearing to his church, and seeking her company.

SS 2:8-13.

The voice of my Beloved sounds
Over the rocks and rising grounds;
O'er hills of guilt and seas of grief
He leaps, he flies to my relief.

Now through the veil of flesh I see
With eyes of love he looks at me;
Now in the gospel's clearest glass
He shows the beauties of his face.

Gently he draws my heart along,
Both with his beauties and his tongue;
'Rise,' saith my Lord, 'make haste away,
No mortal joys are worth thy stay.

'The Jewish wintry state is gone,
The mists are fled, the spring comes on;
The sacred turtle-dove we hear
Proclaim the new, the joyful year.

'Th' immortal vine of heav'nly root
Blossoms, and buds, and gives her fruit:'
Lo! we are come to taste the wine;
Our souls rejoice, and bless the vine.

And when we hear our Jesus say,
'Rise up, my love, make haste away!'
Our hearts would fain outfly the wind,
And leave all earthly loves behind.

poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Barnfloor and Winepress

And he said, If the Lord do not help thee, whence shall I help thee? out of the barnfloor, or out of the winepress?
2 Kings VI: 27

Thou that on sin's wages starvest,
Behold we have the joy in harvest:
For us was gather'd the first fruits,
For us was lifted from the roots,
Sheaved in cruel bands, bruised sore,
Scourged upon the threshing-floor;
Where the upper mill-stone roof'd His head,
At morn we found the heavenly Bread,
And, on a thousand altars laid,
Christ our Sacrifice is made!

Thou whose dry plot for moisture gapes,
We shout with them that tread the grapes:
For us the Vine was fenced with thorn,
Five ways the precious branches torn;
Terrible fruit was on the tree
In the acre of Gethsemane;
For us by Calvary's distress
The wine was racked from the press;
Now in our altar-vessels stored
Is the sweet Vintage of our Lord.

In Joseph's garden they threw by
The riv'n Vine, leafless, lifeless, dry:
On Easter morn the Tree was forth,
In forty days reach'd heaven from earth;
Soon the whole world is overspread;
Ye weary, come into the shade.

The field where He has planted us
Shall shake her fruit as Libanus,
When He has sheaved us in His sheaf,
When He has made us bear his leaf. -
We scarcely call that banquet food,
But even our Saviour's and our blood,
We are so grafted on His wood.

poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Psalm 80

The church's prayer under affliction; or, The vineyard of God wasted.

Great Shepherd of thine Israel,
Who didst between the cherubs dwell,
And lead the tribes, thy chosen sheep,
Safe through the desert and the deep;

Thy church is in the desert now,
Shine from on high and guide us through;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved and sigh no more.

Great God, whom heav'nly hosts obey,
How long shall we lament and pray,
And wait in vain thy kind return?
How long shall thy fierce anger burn?

Instead of wine and cheerful bread
Thy saints with their own tears are fed:
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.

PAUSE I.

Hast thou not planted with thy hands
A lovely vine in heathen lands?
Did not thy power defend it round,
And heav'nly dews enrich the ground?

How did the spreading branches shoot,
And bless the nations with the fruit!
But now, dear Lord, look down and see
Thy mourning vine, that lovely tree.

Why is its beauty thus defaced?
Why hast thou laid her fences waste?
Strangers and foes against her join,
And every beast devours the vine.

Return, Almighty God, return,
Nor let thy bleeding vineyard mourn;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.

PAUSE II.

Lord, when this vine in Canaan grew,
Thou wast its strength and glory too;
Attacked in vain by all its foes,
Till the fair Branch of Promise rose:

Fair Branch, ordained of old to shoot
From David's stock, from Jacob's root;
Himself a noble vine, and we
The lesser branches of the tree.

'Tis thy own Son; and he shall stand
Girt with thy strength at thy right hand;
Thy first-born Son, adorned and blest
With power and grace above the rest.

O for his sake attend our cry,
Shine on thy churches lest they die;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.