Who am I that God should love me
And be punished in my stead?
How could the Great Creator
By the created be led
Up a rugged hill so lonely
To the cross of calvary
And accept that brutal hatred
just to set a sinner free?

Oh, the love that flowed so freely
was a bright and crimson red;
and it held the life of Jesus
and of those who glibly said,
"come on down and we’ll believe you!"
After nails had pierced his hands;
And it also held provision for
Every soul in every land!

Like a speck of minute dust upon
the microscope of space
is my life; a mere reflection
is my influence and place;
Yet I wonder, (oh, I wonder!)
At the gift he gave so high;
and I pledge my deep devotion
as I question, "Who am I?"

Copyright^© Joan Clifton Costner