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 just a little different,
of a 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 labours I review, that I should like a higher place with greater things to do;
but I come to the conclusion , when the evening 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 me to do,
and there isn’t any service I can give which I should scorn,
For it may just be the reason God allowed that I be born.