This blog post is taken from my book Golden Nuggets, and it’s simply a poem written by Will Allen Dromgoole who was born in 1860.
It’s entitled “The Bridge Builder,” and it goes like this…
An old man going down 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 rapids held no fear for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And he built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You’re wasting your strength by building here;
Your journey will end with the closing 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 today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that is nothing 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!”
