11/11/2026
The Racecourse in the Sky
Beyond the reach of morning mist, above the highest hill,
There lies a track of endless green where thunder gallops still.
No heavy track, no stone-hard ground, no biting winter rain,
And horses who have left this world are running free of pain.
The grandstands there are built of stars, the rails are made of light,
Where phantom fields of thoroughbreds line up into the night.
The greatest steeds that ever breathed, from every age and town,
Are kicking up the stardust storms to chase a heavenly crown.
And up in jockey heaven, where the fallen riders rest,
They don the silks of gold and blue to match the fading west.
With healed bones and youthful hearts, they rise astride the great,
The daredevil pilots of the turf who gather at the gate.
No ticking clock, no flashing odds, no heavy weights to bear,
Just perfect strides on cloud-born turf and freedom in the air.
They stream past every finish line, a roaring, soaring crowd,
Encircled by the peace of God, above the highest cloud.
So when you hear the thunder roll across a stormy day,
It’s just the field at halfway mark, a mile and half away.
They’re racing on a sky-bound track, where champions never die,
Forever chasing glory at the racecourse in the sky.
