1 What though no flowers the fig-tree clothe,
Though vines their fruit deny,
The labor of the olive fail.
And fields no meat supply;
2 Though from the fold, with glad surprise,
Though famine reign in empty stalls,
Where herds were wont to be:—
3 Yet in the Lord will I be glad,
And glory in his love;
In him I'll joy, who will the God
4 God is the treasure of my soul,
The source of lasting joy;
A joywhich want shall not impair,
Nor death itself destroy.
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