Though the fig-tree's blossom fail,
And the vines should bring no fruit;
Though the olive, smit with hail,
Cast its foliage round the root;
Though the fields should yield no meat,
And the herds forsake the stall,
In the folds no flocks should bleat
At the shepherd's well-known call:--

Yet will I in God rejoice,
In Jehovah I will trust,
And extol, with heart and voice,
His salvation from the dust;
He can raise my fallen head,
He can all my sickness cure;
God will give His children bread,
And their water shall be sure.