Death is an angel sent down from above,
Sent for the buds and the flowers we love,
Truly 'tis so, for in heaven's own way,
Each soul is a flower in the Master's bouquet.
Gathering flowers for the Master's bouquet,
Beautiful flowers that will never decay,
Gathered by angels and carried away,
Forever to bloom in the Master's bouquet.
Loved ones are passing each day and each hour,
Passing away as the life of a flower,
But every bud and each blossom some day,
Will bloom as the flowers in the Master's bouquet.
Let us be faithful 'til life's work is done,
Blooming with love 'til the reaper has come,
Then we'll be gathered together someday,
Transplanted to bloom in the Master's bouquet.
Page design by Lynn Lewis © - 2016 All Rites, Writes, Wrights, Rights & Wrongs Reserved