Soon we taste the endless sweetness
Of the Tree of Life above;
Taste its own eternal meetness
For the heavenly land we love!
In eternal counsels founded,
Perfect now, in fruit divine;
When the last blest trump has sounded,
Fruit of God, forever mine!
Fresh, and ever new, are hanging
Fruits of life, on that blest Tree;
There is stilled each earnest longing;
Satisfied my soul shall be:
But, my soul! hast thou not tasted
Of that Tree of Life on high?
As through desert lands thou’st hasted,
Eshcol’s grapes been never nigh?
Ah! that Tree of Life was planted,
Rooted deep in love divine,
Ere the sons of God had chanted
Worlds where creature glories shine!
As a tender sapling, rising
From a dry and stony land,
Object of man’s proud despising,
Grew the Plant of God’s right hand!
Yes! that Tree of Life is planted,
Sweetest fruit e’en here has borne!
To its own rich soil transplanted,
Waits alone the eternal morn.
Fruits that our own souls have tasted,
By the Spirit from above,
While through desert lands we’ve hasted;
Fruits of perfect, endless love!
J. N. Darby