The Bridge Builder
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a raging tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow-pilgrim near, “Your
journey will end with the closing day;
You never again will pass this way.
“Your journey will end with the closing day;
You never again will pass this way.
You’ve crossed this chasm deep and wide.
Why build you this bridge at eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head.
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he
said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm which has been as naught to
me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for
him.”