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.