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.