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 thank God for her simple words:
"God's bank ain't busted yet!"

And now I draw rich dividends
more than my hands 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 everything seems drear

And losses loom on every hand
and skies seem not to 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!"