The Reason

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 a worse or better grade.
And since God knows and understands all things on land and sea;
I fancy that He placed me here just where He wanted me.

Sometimes I get to thinking as my labours I review;
That I should like a higher place, with greater things to do.
But I come to the conclusion when my 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’m really 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!