See How the Fruitless Fig Tree Stands

See how the fruit­less fig tree stands

Beneath the own­er’s frown;

The axe is lift­ed in his hands

To cut the cum­ber­er down.

Year af­ter year I come

he cries

And still no fruit is shown;

I see but emp­ty leaves arise;

Then cut the cum­ber­er down.

The axe of death at one sharp stroke

Shall make my jus­tice known;

Each bough shall trem­ble at the shock

Which cuts the cum­ber­er down.

Sinner

be­ware—the axe of death

Is raised

and aimed at thee;

Awhile thy mak­er spares thy breath;

Beware

O bar­ren tree!