My Soul Once Had Its Plenteous Years

My soul once had its plen­te­ous years

And throve

with peace and com­fort filled

Like the fat kine and rip­ened ears

Which Pha­raoh in his dream be­held.

With pleas­ing frames and grace re­ceived

With means and or­di­nanc­es fed;

How hap­py for a while I lived

And lit­tle feared the want of bread.

But fa­mine came and left no sign

Of all the plen­ty I had seen;

Like the dry ears and half-starved kine

I then looked wi­thered

faint and lean.

To Jo­seph the Egyp­tians went

To Je­sus I made known my case;

He

when my lit­tle stock was spent

Opened His ma­ga­zine of grace.

For He the time of dearth fore­saw

And made pro­vi­sion long be­fore;

That fa­mished souls

like me

might draw

Supplies from His un­bound­ed store.

Now on His boun­ty I de­pend

And live from fear of dearth se­cure

Maintained by such a migh­ty friend

I can­not want till He is poor.

O sin­ners

hear His gra­cious call!

His mer­cy’s door stands op­en wide;

He has enough to feed you all

And none who come shall be de­nied.