THE OLIVE PLANT by Lucy Hutchinson

Of all the plants that spring up from the ground,

With more or richer blessings none are crowned

Than is the olive, which still feels that light

That makes the altar and the temple bright,

Gives lustre to the face, poisons expels,

All rankling wounds, all venomous biting heals,

Produceth softness, smoothness, suppless, ease,

Fattening all food, allaying all disease.

Such are the blessed effects the gospel hath

On sinners wounded with the sense of wrath

By fiery serpents stung; it cures their smart,

Rough nature smooths, softens the obdurate heart,

Feeds the internal temple's lamps of grace

And sets sweet lustre on the exterior face.

But where these glorious great effects are wrought

The olive must in the dove's mouth be brought,

For fruitless is the gospel remedy

Except the Spirit do the cure apply.

Order and Disorder Canto 8: 167-184

The Woods near home; 

no olive trees