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."
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