A soldier in another place,
With a look of sadness on his face.
He learns to walk in other lands,
And shoot the gun that is in his hands.
He leads a life of solitude and mistrust,
Because of a faraway land dry as dust.
He has seen things that others have not,
He has been to war he has earned his shot.
A shot at freedom away from it all,
Not down the street or up the hall.
But far away in the mountains of peace,
He finds some time to settle his lease.
A contract of duty and hope and pride,
Has elapsed over the years like a cold hard tide.
The waves of the years will pound away,
And wear down the soldier who will not sway.
He will always stand tall and loud and glad,
For he has been made great, he is ironclad.
A hero to many, a man just to some,
Always beating that stone-cold drum.
In the future still shrouded in mystery,
He looks back at that sad real history.
He looks in disbelief at the memories he held,
Of the lives that were lost, and the tears that swelled.
He hopes to become dear Jesus what you desire,
As he slowly climbs higher and higher.
Up into the wild blue yonder,
He looks and prays and slowly ponders.
And until dear Lord at Heaven’s gate,
A prayerful thought in a melodious state.
A powerful gate gleaming in the sun,
A gateway to hope when war is done.