Grace feels like the dawn, quiet yet strong,
A tender hand that rights the wrong.
It comes unbidden, yet always near,
A voice that soothes every pain and fear.
It’s the breath in the silence when words won’t come,
The steady beat of a love undone.
It’s not for the perfect, the pure, or the few,
But for the broken, the lost, and for me, for you.
Grace is the rain in a barren land,
A river that flows where none can stand.
It takes the ashes of all we’ve been,
And whispers softly, “Begin again.”
It’s the weight that lifts from a heavy soul,
The missing piece that makes us whole.
It’s the beauty found in a fractured past,
A love so eternal, it always lasts.
When they ask, “Do you even know?”
I’ll point to the moments where grace did grow—
In the darkest nights, in the longest days,
In every failure, in every praise.
Grace isn’t a word; it’s a living flame,
A constant, unchanging, holy name.
It’s the cross that bore what I couldn’t bear,
The Savior’s love beyond compare.
So yes, I know what grace can be,
It’s the gift that set my spirit free.
It’s the song I sing, the breath I take,
The reason I live, the vow I make.
Forever I’ll carry this truth divine,
That grace is His, and grace is mine.
