What is it about me that sets me apart, That makes me downcast, and troubles my heart?
Teach me and guide me and show me thy way;
An end of age before us, Bittersweet we all do know;
The harvest of the fields is upon us, Of the tares and the wheat ’tis true; The fields are ripe for the picking, Of the workers there are but few
Bread of Life, Son of man, You are the only one who can,