Away! my unbelieving fear!
Fear shall in me no more have place;
My Saviour doth not yet appear,
He hides the brightness of his face,
But shall I therefore let him go,
And basely to the tempter yield?
No, in the strength of Jesus, no;
I never will give up my shield.
Although the vine its fruit deny,
Although the olive yield no oil,
The withering fig-trees droop and die,
The fields elude the tiller's toil.
The empty stall no herd afford,
And perish all the bleating race,
Yet will I triumph in the Lord--
The God of my salvation praise.
--Charles Wesley.
'Tis impious in a good man to be sad.
--Edward Young.