Though the cherry tress don’t blossom
And the strawberries don’t ripen
Though the apples are worm eaten
And the wheat fields stunted
Though the sheep pens are sheepless
Though the cattle barn are empty
I am singing joyfully praise to God
I am turning cartwheels of joy to my saviour
Counting on gods rule to prevail
I take heart and I gain strength and I run like the dear
And I feel that I am king of the mountain