BranchesFriend, are you weary and withered?
Like a branch broken by the wind, tossed aside?-
Whose leaves will never bud again no matter how they try?

Who picks up branches
and kindly reattaches
what the wind has blown away?
Ridiculous would be this grace-
this utter waste of time and pow’r,
like making sweet a grape that’s sour.

Friend, I’ll never understand
the kindness in His hand
nor the effort He did spend
to pick me up again and again
miraculously binding me
to the Tree, the Vine
from which comes life
and in which I
will never, ever die.
Now time no longer tires me;
instead- in Him- revives me
to bear the fruit that He desires:
To tell you, friend,
about the grace
He wishes to extend.

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