Though the fig tree shall not blossom

Nor the fruit be on the vines

Though the labor of the olive may fail

And the fields yield no food

Though the flocks be cut off from the fold

And the herd not in the stalls

 

 

Yet I will praise the Lord

I will take joy in the God of my salvation

For the Lord is my strength

He makes my feet as the deer

Treading high places

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