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 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 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 the bridge for him."

 

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