Justice. Cut it down, cut it down,
Spare not the fruit­less tree!
It spreads a harm­ful shade around,
It spoils what else were use­ful ground.
No fruit for years on it I’ve found;
Cut it down, cut it down.

Mercy. One year more, one year more,
Oh, spare the fruit­less tree!
Behold its branch­es broad and green
Its spread­ing leaves have hope­ful been,
Some fruit there­on may yet be seen;
One year more, one year more.

Justice. Cut it down, cut it down,
And burn the worth­less tree!
For oth­er use the soil prepare,
Some oth­er tree will flour­ish there,
And in my vine­yard much fruit bear,
Cut it down, cut it down.

Mercy. One year more, one year more,
For mer­cy spare the tree!
Another year of care be­stow,
On its fair form some fruit may grow,
If not—then lay the cum­b’rer low,
One year more, one year more.

Still it stands, still it stands,
A fair, but fruit­less tree!
The Mas­ter, seek­ing fruit ther­eon
Has come—but, grieved at find­ing none,
Now speaks to Jus­tice—Mer­cy flown—
Cut it down, cut it down.