Someday we’ll know where the pilots go

       When their work on earth is through

            Where the air is clean and the engines gleam

       And the skies are clear and blue.

             They have flown, with the engine’s moan

       As they climbed to the great beyond

             And taken delight at the awesome sight

       Of the world spread far and ‘yond

             And how they love, and are beloved,

       But their love is most for air

             With wings spread out, they still fly out  

               And leave their troubles there.

             How near to God, these men of sod

       Who come near danger’s door;

             They are real, not made of steel

       He knows who goes before.

             Yet not alone, above their home

       When the earth is out of sight

             They make their stand, He takes their hand

       And guides them through the night.

             He knows these things, of men and wings

       And they are surely true.

             He’ll give a hand to such a man,

       Because He’s a pilot, too
                                                                                        

                                                                                                                                ©Leo D. Hymas, 1978