I don't know how to say it, but somehow it seems to me
That maybe we are stationed where God wants us to be.
That the little place I'm filling is the reason for my birth
And just to do the work I do, He sent me down to earth.
If God had wanted otherwise I reckon He'd have made
Me just a little different, Of worse or better grade.
And since God knows and understands all things of land and sea,
I fancy that he placed me here just where he wanted me.
Sometimes I get to thinking, as my labor I review,
That I should like a higher place with greater things to do.
But I come to the conclusion when the envying is stilled,
That the post to which God sent me is the post he wanted filled.
So I plod along and struggle in the hope, when day is through,
That I really am necessary to the things God wants to do.
And there isn't any service I can give which I should scorn,
For it may be just the reason God allowed that I be born.