MY GOD!  My GOD!  Where art thou?
While I work and toil by the sweat of my brow?
And with the abundance I have today,
Why should I need to bow and pray?

Through all my grief, my toil, and strife,
I have managed to build me a better life!
I have all things I need to live,
Why should I be the one to give?

Now as the day's end is drawing near,
I hear a soft, small voice whisper in my ear:

"I hear thy voice, oh man of sorrow.
I shall answer you today, not wait for the morrow.
The work, and toil, and sweat of brow,
Stems from the curse, even till now.

Thou fool! The abundance, to which you lay claim,
Came not of your doings, but because of my name.
You complain of the sweat running down your face,
Yet, you wouldn't even have life, but for my grace!

I have given you all that you have today,
Why is it so difficult to bow and pray?
You question the reason for you to give,
Should I question the reason for you to live?

If I were but to blow my horn,
To you no child would ever be born.
The heavens and earth would melt with heat,
The ground would flow from beneath your feet.

Your soul would hang between Heaven and Hell,
And depend on you whether it rose or fell.
Now that you have heard my voice,
It is up to you to make that choice.

If you choose not to bend your knee,
You turn over that precious choice to Me!"