My home, though it's modest, is cheerful and warm,
My pantry is filled, I can ride out a storm.
Around me are family and friends I can see,
I'm so thankful, dear Father, but why me, Lord, why me?
Others are suffering and hungry and cold,
And homeless and lonely with oppression untold.
Why was I born, Lord, with the gift to be free
Instead of those others? Why me, Lord, why me?
All colors, all races, all kinds, every creed,
I know they're my brothers and sisters in need.
I know I'm not better so that's not the key,
And I'm not more deserving so why me, Lord, why me?
As I accept, Lord, these gifts that you send,
I'll thank you so humbly each day till the end,
But always I'll ponder this deep mystery,
Why should I be blessed so? Why me, Lord, why me?
by Cecil Irene Chuck