An old man traveling
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
held no fears for him.
But he turned when
safe on the other side
And builded a bridge
to span the tide.
"Old man," cried
a fellow pilgrim near,
"You're wasting
your time' in building here.
Your journey will
end with the closing day;
You never again will
pass this way.
You have crossed the
chasm deep and wide,
Why build you this
bridge at even-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 stream 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."
Will Allen Dromgoole