little shade will grow into a tree
Leaving us in wonder as it sleeps
Who on Earth can fathom, who on Earth can know?
You are but a thought in your maker's eyes

And I may not always believe
But you're nothing short of a miracle

Feeble, tiny hands bound for greatness
You will rise and fall like the rest of us
Love will keep you up, and always be the [bad word] That will see you through to the very last

And I may not always believe
But you're nothing short of a miracle
Clever minds will second guess
But to me, you're a living miracle

Something [bad word] over me
Grace [bad word] to set me free
In your hands, you hold a new forever

We may not always believe
Past which side we really see
Pride and lust is our disease
And the cure is you, little miracle