Trees by their yield°
Are known; but I—
My sap is sealed,
My root is dry.
If life within
I none can shew
(Except for sin),
Nor fruit above,—
It must be so—
I do not love.

Will no one show
I argued ill?
Because, although
Self-sentenced, still
I keep my trust.
If He would prove
And search me through
Would He not find
(What yet there must
Be hid behind