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 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 your 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 this bridge at evening tide?”

The builder lifted his old gray head;
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There fol­lowed after me to-day
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that 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!”

WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE

From the Poetry Foun­da­tion