From Grace to grace

Little flower, child of the earth
Lies here now in gentle repose
Her face once, wrinkled, smoothed
No more sorrow no more tears

She had lived a life
To her was the fullest
Believing in goodness
Although at times misplaced

She had loved well
Given her all
To those she loved
She was much beloved

Grace has gone to glory
She will indeed wake
When the trumpet calls
At the Dawn of the Day.