The frosty hills of Winter’s might,
Burn beneath my Father’s light.
Calling me—a traveler’s fare—
To tread this earth and breathe its air.

For ‘neath me’s drawn a path unknown,
A river wide of tears and stone.
Yet softly in the distant skies
Glows the gold of Morning’s eyes,
Reminding me of Home.

So as I travel, I must sing
And whisper love unto my King.
For He will guide me through these hills—
The valleys low that sorrow fills.

And as a burning lamp, I hold
Hope that grows within my soul.
On I go, He watches me.
Smiling down, He sets me free.
Until I breathe my victory—
And grace has brought me Home.