The Bridge Builder

by Will Allen Dromgoole

 

 

 

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 sullen tide.

 

 

 

The old man crossed in the twilight dim; The sullen stream had no fear 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,

"You are wasting strength with building here; Your journey will end with the ending day; You never again will pass this way;

 

You've crossed the chasm, deep and wide- Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?"

 

 

 

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, that has been 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."