Much Fruit - A Poem by Annie Johnson Flint

It is the branch that bears the fruit that feels the knife;

To prune it for a larger growth, a fuller life;

Though every budding twig be lopped, and every grace

Of swaying tendril, springing leaf, be lost a space.

O thou, whose life of joy seems reft of beauty - shorn,

Whose aspirations lie in dust, all bruised and torn;

Rejoice! Though each desire, each dream, each hope of thine,

Shall fall and fade; it is the hand of Love Divine,

That holds the knife, that cuts and breaks with tenderest touch,

That thou, whose life has borne some fruit may'st now bear much!

- Annie Johnson Flint -

John 15:1-5 I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit. Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me. I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.