where living waters flow;
Wide flung the branches, cool the shade,
where all the weary go.
Fresh green the leaves for healing giv'n,
bright gold the new-pressed oil
that runs as balm upon the banks
toward which the weary toil.
Deep-scarred the bark, but sweet the wine
that pours down, last and best.
And rich the table spread below,
where all the weary rest.
Sing praise to God, the gardener,
Whose labors never cease
to make beneath the Tree of Life
for all the weary, peace.
-hymn in the July Magnificat