CLXI. The impoverished Saint rejoicing in GOD.

SO firm the Saint's Foundations stand,
Nor can his Hopes remove;
Sustain'd by GOD'S almighty Hand,
And shelter'd in his Love.

Fig-Trees and Olive-Pnts may fail,
And Vines their Fruit deny,
Famine thro' all his Fields prevail,
And Flocks and Herds may die.

GOD is the Treasure of his Soul,
A Source of sacred Joy,
Which no Afflictions can controul,
Nor Death itself destroy.

LORD, may we feel thy chearing Beams,
And taste thy Saints Repose;
We will not mourn the perish'd Streams,
While such a Fountain flows.