A gourd sprang up to shelter me,
 And shade me in my grief.
I thought it would forever be,
 A source of sweet relief.

But after only one glad day,
 Which might my dreams confirm,
I learned it wouldn’t be that way,
 For God prepared a worm.

The worm attacked my precious shade,
 And smote it that it died.
The sun now beats upon my head,
 And I am sorely tried.

Like Jonah I am very faint,
 And wish myself to die,
But unlike him, make no complaint,
 Though unto God I cry.

I don’t deserve to have my way,
 Nor in the shade to sit.
The God who gave may take away,
 And I can but submit.

I can’t be angry, yet I plead;
 I dare to ask my Lord,
Unworthy though I am indeed,
 Please give me back the gourd!