THOUGH the fig tree shall not blossom,
Though no fruit be in the vines,
Though the fields shall yield no fruitage,
Of the herd there be no signs -
Yet I'll joy in God's salvation,
As my faith in Him reclines.

While the nations reel and stagger,
And the Dove of Peace has fled,
While the land and sea are groaning
'Neath the burden of their dead -
Yet, amid the awful tumult,
I rejoice and lift my head !

Though the vision seem to tarry,
And the waiting time prolong,
Though my faith be sorely tested
In the conflict fierce and strong,
Yet His grace will be sufficient,
And the burden of my song !

Though He slay me, I will trust Him,
Though my very heart He break,
For I know with loving wisdom
He has planned the way I take -
Thus my dying breath shall bless Him,
And I'll praise Him when I wake !