Drug That Healed Wounded Grace

Grace is a free gift That cover up all drifts Even in its own shift It troubles logical thefts Truly, in problems, it seems there is no grace Or you think many are out of space May be its remains are of trace Meant for those who set the pace Working grace is for all Just that many don't listen to its call And leads it astray to their downfall Yet, aligned beings get to stand tall Someone paid for it To let go of us- punishment Our troubles and s Laid down as the sheep for atonement He died for our sakes Without complaining of aches Yet, for us; wines and breads, he bakes And our destined home, he makes