Who am I to tell you of Jesus?

I am the poor, whom you care nothing for,

And work hard to ignore.

​

I was the child abandoned and betrayed,

And you threw scraps where I lay,

Before rushing away.

 

I'm the old friend you reject,

Though your own life you deck,

Having brought mine to a wreck.

 

When you knew I was abused,

And callously bruised,

My weakness you used.

 

My legal rights you ignored and cast to the floor,

You threw justice out the door,

Though my cries you heard roar.

​

When you saw me hobble in pain,

No mercy could you retain,

You turned away in disdain. 

​

Though you saw what little I possessed,

To rob me, you obsessed,

You left me plundered and depressed.

​

You believed me a whore,

Because I came to your door,

When I found kindness no more.

 

I am the sheep that is black,

Torn by the pack,

Carrying your sins on my back.

​

I was a lamb all alone,

Wolves gnawing to the bone,

So you circled to stone.

 

I am the lonely who sits in the dark,

Alone I walk through the park,

With no blessed memories to spark.

 

Who am I to tell you of Jesus?

 

I am the lost, whom he came to find;

I am the broken, whom he came to bind;

I am the poor, the cripple, the blind;

I am the contemptible he won’t leave behind.

 

When you hurt me, he healed me;

When you left me, he came to me;

When you mocked me, he soothed me;

When you schemed against me, he told me;

When you lied to me; he sent the truth to me;

When you blamed me, he forgave me;

When you hated me, he loved me.

 

Who am I to tell you of Jesus?

 

I'm the only one who can,

 the least, like me, know his plan;

How he reveals himself to the heart of a poor, humbled man.