In the backwoods of the country, roamed a child so long ago.
Dreaming dreams that only, a little child can know.
Like the birds and butterflies, pictures painted on their wings.
The beauty all around, stirred the heart, set it to sing.
Are the clouds all made of cotton, does God hold them in the sky.
Do the stars come out at night, only cause there's no more light.
Does the sun just chase the moon away, so there can be another day.
Or does the moon come out at night, only cause there's no more light.
We must nurture childlike faith, God's kingdom such is made.
To children all is possible, full of innocence and faith.
Questions little children ask, such trusting little minds.
Just tell the little children, God loves them all the time.
Pressed Down Have you listened in the nighttime, to the lonely wailing sounds.
Of a bird caught in the thicket, helt down, kept on the ground.
It's wings seem now so useless, in this helplessness it's found.
But set free those wings go soaring, far beyond these earthly bounds.
Like the bird caught in the thicket, in our helplessness pressed down.
God pours the sweetest music, most precious songs are found.
When our hearts are often crying, and there's darkness all around.
It's in these times we know then, God's presence can be found.
If your heart is now entangled, with the pain and sorrow here.
And you feel you're bound so tightly, your mind is filled with fear.
And your foot's caught in the thicket, and you feel that no one cares.
Just lift your voice to heaven, let your singing fill the air.