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 swollen tide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim; 

The rapids held no fears for him.

But he turned when safe on the farther side 

And built a bridge to span the tide. 

“Old man,” cried a fellow pilgrim near, 

“You are wasting your time in 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 you this bridge at eventide?” 

The builder lifted his old gray head.

“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said, 

“There follows after me today

A youth whose feet must pass this way. 

This stream, which has been as naught to me,

To that fair youth may a pitfall be. 

He, too, must cross in the twilight dim-

 Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”