What Else Could The Small Me Speak Of The Big Him?

What else could the small me speak of the big him?
When my filthy heart led me to my misdeed.
And everything became amiss
When I lay my hands on my misdeed.
This misdeed of mine
Makes my heart more disheveled.
My misdeed makes me lost track
As if I was intoxicated by an alcoholic wine.
And my opponents became the leads.
In a solemn voice, I began to whine.
But you stretch forth thy hand
And drew me back
To my formal track.

What else could the small me speak of the big him?
Day and Night, I tried to use my tiny brain to reflect
On my past and present regrets
That has been an hindrance to my success.
When I came to a reflective conclusion
I realized that my regrets
Were not being grateful for the gift of breath.
And then I realized that one dreadful thing is certain; Death.
But I still need to give thanks for life
No matter what and how the situation may be of type.

What else could the small me speak of the big him?
Than to speak of the glasses of blessings
He poured on me.
What else could the small me speak of the big him?
Than to acknowledge in my heart thy ways
Which are abounding in Grace.