Cut It Down

by P. P. Bliss

Justice.
Cut it down, cut it down,
Spare not the fruitless tree!
It spreads a harmful shade around,
It spoils what else were useful ground.
No fruit for years on it I've found;
Cut it down, cut it down.

Mercy.
One year more, one year more,
Oh, spare the fruitless tree!
Behold its branches broad and green
Its spreading leaves have hopeful been,
Some fruit thereon may yet be seen;
One year more, one year more.

Justice.
Cut it down, cut it down,
And burn the worthless tree!
For other use the soil prepare,
Some other tree will flourish there,
And in my vineyard much fruit bear,
Cut it down, cut it down.

Mercy.
One year more, one year more,
For mercy spare the tree!
Another year of care bestow,
On its fair form some fruit may grow,
If not-then lay the cumb'rer low,
One year more, one year more.

Still it stands, still it stands,
A fair, but fruitless tree!
The Master, seeking fruit thereon
Has come-but, grieved at finding none,
Now speaks to Justice-Mercy flown-
Cut it down, cut it down.