Should Famine o’er the Mourning Field

Should fa­mine o’er the mourn­ing field

Extend her de­so­lat­ing reign

Nor spring her bloom­ing beau­ties yield

Nor au­tumn swell the food­ful grain.

Should low­ing herds and blea­ting sheep

Around their fam­ished mas­ter die;

And hope itself des­pair­ing weep

While life de­plores its last sup­ply:

Amid the dark

and death­ful scene

If I can say

The Lord is mine

The joy shall tri­umph o’er the pain

And glo­ry dawn

though life de­cline.

The God of my sal­va­tion lives

My nob­ler life He will sus­tain;

His Word im­mor­tal vi­gor gives

Nor shall my glo­ri­ous hopes be vain.

Thy pre­sence

Lord

can cheer my heart

Though ev­ery earth­ly com­fort die;

Thy smile can bid my pains de­part

And raise my sac­red plea­sures high.

O let me hear Thy bliss­ful voice

Inspiring life and joys d­ivine!

The bar­ren de­sert shall re­joice

’Tis para­dise

if Thou art mine.