A 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 crutch

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 else comes over me

Grace has come to set me free

In your hands, you hold a new forever

We may not always believe

Blessed with sight we rarely see

Pride and lust is our disease

And the cure is you, little miracle