[What am I that there should be]
“When I consider Thy heavens, the
work of Thy fingers, the moon and the
stars, which Thou hast ordained; what is
man, that Thou art mindful of him? and
the son of man, that Thou visitest him?”
—Ps. viii. 3, 4.
What am I that there should be
Thought or care in heaven for me,
That the Father's heart should long
To turn my sorrow into song,
Or that Christ should die to win
Such a soul as mine from sin?
What am I? A pigmy form,
Feeble as a poor earth-worm;
Fain to make a little stir
Like the chirping grasshopper:
How should He that ruleth all
Care for anything so small?
Does He measure, then, by size,
Not as we are good and wise?
Is the senseless lump of earth
More to Him than manly worth?
Or the raging of the sea
More than reasoned thought in me?
Nay, such measurement were mean:
He is great whose soul is clean;
He is mighty who has Mind
Nature's Force to loose and bind;
He is worth the saving cross,
Whose death were an eternal loss.
