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