God’s Bank Ain’t Busted Yet
by Alice P. Moss
The bank had closed, my earthly store had vanished from my hand.
I felt 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, ma'am, 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 thanked God for her simple words:
"God's bank ain't busted yet."