Who makes the sky, the sea and the land?

Who makes the night? Who makes the day?

Who cheers the traveler on his way?

Who fills the mountains with silver and gold?

Who (when the traveler is weary and old)

Opens the gates, when no more we can roam,

And bids us to enter our Heavenly home?

Going, Going, Gone

Where are you going, my dear young man?

“I’m going,” he said, “to the prairie land.”