God is the Treasure of my Soul
What tho' no flow'rs the fig-tree clothe,
Tho' vines their fruit deny,
The labor of the olive fail,
And fields no meat supply?
Tho' from the fold, with sad surprise,
My flock cut off I see;
Tho' famine pine in empty stalls,
Where herds were wont to be?
Yet in the Lord will I be glad,
And glory in his love:
In him I'll joy, who will the God
Of my salvation prove.
He to my tardy feet shall lend
The swiftness of the roe;
Till, raised on high, I safely dwell
Beyond the reach of woe.
God is the treasure of my soul,
The source of lasting joy;
A joy which want shall not impair,
Nor death itself destroy.
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