Poem by Alice P. Moss - "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, 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 than God for her simple words: “God’s bank ain’t busted yet?”

And now I draw rich dividends, more than my hand can hold.
Of faith and love and hope and trust, and peace of mind 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!”