This vine
My master
Your right hand
Has planted
From a thorn on Your forehead
It sprouted
By Your blood and Your streams of tears
It's been watered
Because of Your pure love
You were slaughtered
It's not for me
My creator to
Comprehend Your design
For I am foolish on my own
But with You oh Lord
It is wisdom
But we've been left by all
Whom have we but You
Whom have but You, my Lord
Whom have we but You, my Lord
This vine
My master
Your right hand has planted
From a thorn Your forehead
It sprouted
By Your blood and Your streams of tears
It's been watered
We're engraved on Your palm
Whom shall we fear but You
Behold, mercy will pour down from You
Father abundantly
Whenever a door closes
Your mercy opens another
Your mercy opens another
Oh, Lord
Your poor people, oh Holy one
Have suffered for so long
Have compassion
On this day
For this vine has no life without You
This vine
My master
Your right hand has planted