Someday we will know where the pilots go,

when their work on earth is through, and the skies are always blue

 

They have flown alone, with the engine's moan, as they sweat the great beyond

and they take delight, of the awesome sight, of the world spread far and yon

 

Yet, not alone, for above the moan, when the earth is out of sight

As they make their stand, He takes their hand and guides them through the night

 

How near to God are these men of sod, who step near death's last door

Oh, these men are real, not made of steel, but He knows who goes before

 

And how they live, and love and are beloved,

but their love is most for air,

and with death about, they will still fly out,

and leave their troubles there

 

He knows these things of men with wings

and He knows they are surely true,

and He will give a hand, to such a man

'cause He's a pilot, too  

                                                                                                                                                     Unknown author