Though the fig tree does not bud
And I am alone
And there are no grapes on the vines,
And I can find no joy in my world right now;
Though the olive crop fails
And I have nothing to soothe my open wounds;
And the fields produce no food,
And I’m out of a job or hate the one I have;
Though there are no sheep in the pen
And no one warms me on cold nights
And no cattle in the stalls
And I have no tangible basis for feeling secure,
Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
He enables me to go on the heights.
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