From Grapes Of Wrath I Make My Wine Poem by Jordan St. Stier

With Joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation
-Isaiah 12.3


Wake! For the morn is bright an' clear!
Hey, Ho! The sun shines, but the cloud draws near!
The finch sings dirges in the thistle,
Go wring the well, the water's clear
From the clouds that follow thine
From the grapes of wrath I make my wine;

Provide me with my allotment o' bread
And bring me the fruits from the valley's head
The blooming tree all dripping and overbearing
For the coming of winter, it will soon be dead
The sun's golden rays draw away from behind
From the grapes of wrath I make my wine

Open my hand and satisfy all my desires
Put a key in the door of heavenly fire
Let blessing flow like a heavenly spring
Let a hand play a holy song on a lyre
If you seek for a door in the wall, you will soon find
From the grapes of wrath I make my wine

Find me a bandage for where I will bleed
For my bloody old wound is draining with speed
The picture of pain comes at me at moments bad
For death isn't going to abide or heed
While I still can child, put your hand in mine
From the grapes of wrath I made my wine.