在傷兵與葡萄的故事一百年以後，倪柝聲於1948年拿著印有剛剛翻譯好的散文詩的一疊紙，來到聚會裡，鄭重的宣佈說：「我手裡的一疊紙，有五兩黃金重！」當然他是指手中這一首詩的屬靈重量。原來這一疊紙上面所印的，就是剛剛譯成中文的那首英文散文詩：「葡萄一生的故事」，共有十五節，後來倪柝聲加上第十六節。這首詩歌(聖徒詩歌400)的作者是金禾莉。
這首詩無疑地是倪柝聲弟兄一生非常恰切的寫照。倪弟兄當初給這首詩的題目取作「門徒」。學生不能高過先生，僕人不能大於主人。他一生確曾走在他的主人所走過並留下的路跡上，忠心到死。當他像葡萄一樣，經過無情的酒酢時，他曾問主說：「你手須剌多深，須扎多痛，方能吸出甘甜？」歷史已經證明：他所寫的詩歌就像所傳的信息一樣，使人接觸到像蜜一樣的屬靈精華。為著在歷史上存真，我們採用了倪弟兄所譯的「葡萄一生」原來未經潤飾的初稿作為本詩集的序。此一初稿今日已不多見，其文字雖未經過十分琢磨，然而詩的感覺辦常深入。但願感動倪弟兄寫成這些詩歌的聖靈，加倍的感動我們。阿們！——陳希曾《詩歌寶藏》
一 我們現在默思，葡萄一生的事；其路並不容易，其境也不安逸；
不像，不像野地野花，隨地隨意吐華，生成，生成曲徑迷堂，生成款式百樣。
二 反之葡萄開花，非常渺小無華，人幾不能辨省，牠竟也曾有英；
花未，花未開得一日，即已結為果實，不得，不得成為驕葩，自感丰姿可誇。
三 牠是栓在椿上，不能隨意生長，牠如伸肢展臂，也是架上被繫；
牠就，牠就從了礫土，吸取牠的食物，道路，道路不能揀選，不能想要變遷。
四 是的，綠衣秀美，春地披上明媚，因著生命豐裕，自然生長有餘；
滿身，滿身嫩枝細苗，開始飄浮盤繞，在於，在於青藍空中，得嘗甘美無窮。
五 但是園主園工，對牠並不放鬆，帶著刈剪修刀，要剝牠的驕傲；
毫不，毫不顧惜細嫩，將牠割到標準，所有，所有多餘美穗，都被斷折破碎。
六 在牠損失期間，牠並不敢自憐，乃是反將自己，更為完全徹底，
交給，交給剝奪所有，使牠虛空的手，牠力，牠力不肯損失，一切都為結實。
七 那些流血的枝，漸變堅硬木質；那些存留的穗，也漸結果壘壘；
太陽，太陽迫牠枯乾，牠葉開始落散，使牠，使牠果子盛紫，直至收成日子。
八 牠因負重過甚，致牠無枝不沉—這是長期努力，受盡琢磨來的—
現今，現今果已全美，自然牠可自慰；但是，但是收成已到，欣慰日子已少。
九 有手要來摘下，有腳要來踐踏，葡萄所有寶藏，在於酒酢之上，
直到，直到豐富紅酒，有如長江大流，源源，源源滾湧不息，喜樂遍滿全地。
十 但是葡萄形狀，乃是剝光淒涼，已經給了一切，又將進入黑夜；
無人，無人向牠償還牠所給人醉歡，反而，反而將牠再砍，成為無枝禿幹。
十一 然而全冬之間，牠酒卻賜甘甜，給那寒冷之中，憂鬱愁苦之眾；
但牠，但牠卻在外面，經歷雪地冰天，前來，前來忍受一切，一切何其難解。
十二 直到寒冬已過，牠又豫備結果，重新萌芽生枝，再來放綠成姿；
不因，不因所受磨難，心中埋怨不甘，不因，不因損失無限，而欲減少奉獻。
十三 牠的所有呼吸，盡是高天清氣，並不半點沾染不潔屬己情感；
面向，面向犧牲含笑，再來接受雕削，有如，有如從未遇過損失或者折磨。
十四 葡萄從牠肢枝，流酒、流血、流汁，是否因己捨盡，牠就變為更貧？
世上，世上醉人，浪者，從牠暢飲、作樂，他們，他們是否享福？能否變為更富？
十五 估量生命原則，以失不是以得；不視酒飲幾多，乃視酒傾幾何；
因為，因為愛的能力，是在愛的捨棄；誰苦，誰苦受得最深，最有可以給人。
十六 誰待自己最苛，最易為神選擇；誰傷自己最狠，最能擦人淚痕；
誰不，誰不熟練剝奪，誰是鳴鈸響鑼；誰能，誰能拯救自己，誰就不能樂極。
——金漢彌爾敦夫人（Mrs. Hamilton King）著倪柝聲譯(聖徒詩歌400）
The Disciples
By Harriet Eleanor Hamilton-King ( 1840)
WE suffer. Why we suffer,—that is hid
With God’s foreknowledge in the clouds of Heaven.
The first book written sends that human cry
Out of the clear Chaldean pasture-lands
Down forty centuries; and no answer yet
Is found, nor will be found, while yet we live
In limitations of Humanity.
But yet one thought has often stayed by me
In the night-watches, which has brought at least
The patience for the hour, and made the pain
No more a burden which I groaned to leave,
But something precious which I feared to lose.
—How shall I show it, but by parables?
The sculptor, with his Psyche’s wings half-hewn
May close his eyes in weariness, and wake
To meet the white cold clay of his ideal
Flushed into beating life, and singing down
The ways of Paradise. The husbandman
May leave the golden fruitage of his groves
Ungarnered, and upon the Tree of Life
Will find a richer harvest waiting him.
The soldier dying thinks upon his bride,
And knows his arms shall never clasp her more,
Until he first the face of his unborn child
Behold in heaven: for each and all of life,
In every phase of action, love, and joy,
There is fulfilment only otherwhere.—
But if, impatient, thou let slip thy cross,
Thou wilt not find it in this world again,
Nor in another; here, and here alone
Is given thee to suffer for God’s sake.
In other worlds we shall more perfectly
Serve Him and love Him, praise Him, work for Him,
Grow near and nearer Him with all delight;
But then we shall not any more be called
To suffer, which is our appointment here.
Canst thou not suffer then one hour,—or two?
If He should call thee from thy cross to-day,
Saying, It is finished!—that hard cross of thine
From which thou prayest for deliverance,
Thinkest thou not some passion of regret
Would overcome thee? Thou wouldst say, ‘So soon?
Let me go back, and suffer yet awhile
More patiently;—I have not yet praised God.’
And He might answer to thee,—‘Never more.
All pain is done with.’ Whensoe’er it comes,
That summons that we look for, it will seem
Soon, yea too soon. Let us take heed in time
That God may now be glorified in us;
And while we suffer, let us set our souls
To suffer perfectly: since this alone,
The suffering, which is this world’s special grace,
May here be perfected and left behind.
—But in obedience and humility;—
Waiting on God’s hand, not forestalling it.
Seek not to snatch presumptuously the palm
By self-election; poison not thy wine
With bitter herbs if He has made it sweet;
Nor rob God’s treasuries because the key
Is easy to be turned by mortal hands.
The gifts of birth, death, genius, suffering,
Are all for His hand only to bestow.
Receive thy portion, and be satisfied.
Who crowns himself a king is not the more
Royal; nor he who mars himself with stripes
The more partaker of the Cross of Christ.
But if Himself He come to thee, and stand
Beside thee, gazing down on thee with eyes
That smile, and suffer; that will smite thy heart,
With their own pity, to a passionate peace;
And reach to thee Himself the Holy Cup
(With all its wreathen stems of passion-flowers
And quivering sparkles of the ruby stars),
Pallid and royal, saying ‘Drink with Me’;
Wilt thou refuse? Nay, not for Paradise!
The pale brow will compel thee, the pure hands
Will minister unto thee; thou shalt take
Of that communion through the solemn depths
Of the dark waters of thine agony,
With heart that praises Him, that yearns to Him
The closer through that hour. Hold fast His hand,
Though the nails pierce thine too! take only care
Lest one drop of the sacramental wine
Be spilled, of that which ever shall unite
Thee, soul and body to thy living Lord!
Therefore gird up thyself, and come, to stand
Unflinching under the unfaltering hand,
That waits to prove thee to the uttermost.
It were not hard to suffer by His hand,
If thou couldst see His face;—but in the dark!
That is the one last trial:—be it so.
Christ was forsaken, so must thou be too:
How couldst thou suffer but in seeming, else?
Thou wilt not see the face nor feel the hand,
Only the cruel crushing of the feet,
When through the bitter night the Lord comes down
To tread the winepress.—Not by sight, but faith,
Endure, endure,—be faithful to the end!