Whose tracks are these? I do not know.
Imprinted on the pristine snow…
Beyond the ditch and wicket fence,
They stretch forever onward hence.
I look on in awe in the dimming light,
As they fade into the darkening night.
Whose tracks these are…I surely know…
I cannot pass them by…and though
I see not who has left them here…
My faith is sure, and naught I fear.
As I tread boldly down the track
My course is set…no turning back.