God's Bank Ain't Busted Yet!

The bank had closed,

My earthly store

had vanished from my hand;

I felt that there was no sadder one

than I in all the land.

My washerwoman, too, had lost

her little mite with mine.

And she was singing as she hung

the clothes upon the line.

"How can you be so gay?" I asked,

"Your loss don't you regret?"

"Yes, sir, but what's the use to fret?

God's bank ain't busted yet!"

I felt my burden lighter grow;

Her faith I seemed to share;

In prayer I went to God's great throne

And laid my troubles there.

The sun burst from behind the clouds,

In golden splendor set;

I thank God for her simple words:

"God's bank ain't busted yet!"

And now I draw rich dividends,

More than my hands can hold,

Of faith and love and hope and trust,

And peace all mine untold.

I thank the giver of it all,

But still I can't forget!

My washerwoman's simple words;

"God's bank ain't busted yet!"

Oh, weary ones upon life's road,

When every thing seems drear

And losses loom on every hand

And skies seem not too clear,

Throw back your shoulders,

Lift your head and cease to chafe and fret,

Your dividend will be declared;

"God's bank ain't busted yet!"

-- Joseph Off

(Mr. Off was a faithful deacon at the Indianapolis Baptist Temple who is now with the Lord)