Although no blossom'd fig tree deck the field,
Nor fruit hangs clust'ring on the joyful vine,
To give, when press'd, the spirit-cheering wine,
Nor cultur'd ground the needful food doth yield;
Although the flocks the fold no longer shield,
Nor sheep and goats from rav'nous wolves confine;
Although no grazing herds, as once, are mine,
And all my gold to robbers is reveal'd;
Yet in Jehovah will my soul rejoice,
The God of my salvation; songs shall rise
To him, whose favor is my treasur'd gold.
His bounty forces on my better choice
The ever-gladd'ning fruits of paradise,
And heav'n's unmeasur'd good, and joys untold.