Let me sing a song for the one I love, called “My Lover and His Vineyard”: My beloved planted a vineyard on a very fertile hill. First he dug up its ground and hauled away its stones so he could plant within it the choicest of vines. He built a watchtower in the middle of it and carved a winepress out of its rock. He fully expected it to bear good grapes, but instead it produced only worthless wild grapes. So now, you residents of Jerusalem and people of Judah, you be the judges! What more could I have done for my vineyard? When I expected it to bear luscious grapes, why did it produce only wild, worthless grapes?
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