| 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-- |
| That sullen stream had no fears
for him; |
| But he turned, when he reached
the other side, |
| And built a bridge to span the
tide. |
| |
| "Old man," said a pilgrim near, |
| "You are wasting strength in
building here. |
| Your journey will end with the
ending day; |
| You never again must pass this
way. |
| You have crossed the chasm, deep
and wide, |
| Why build you the bridge at the
eventide?" |
| |
| The builder lifted his old grey
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 the
bridge for him." |
| |
|
Will Allen Dromgoole |