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An old man, going a lone highway, |
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Came at the evening, cold and gray, |
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To a chasm, vast and deep and wide, |
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Through which was flowing a sullen tide, |
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The old man crossed in the
twilight dim-- |
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That sullen stream had no fears
for him; |
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But he turned, when he reached
the other side, |
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And built a bridge to span the
tide. |
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"Old man," said a pilgrim near, |
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"You are wasting strength in
building here. |
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Your journey will end with the
ending day; |
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You never again must pass this
way. |
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You have crossed the chasm, deep
and wide, |
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Why build you the bridge at the
eventide?" |
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The builder lifted his old grey
head. |
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"Good friend, in the path I have
come," he said, |
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"There followeth after me today |
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A youth whose feet must pass this
way. |
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This chasm that has been naught
to me |
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To that fair-haired youth may a
pitfall be. |
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He, too, must cross in the
twilight dim; |
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Good friend, I am building the
bridge for him." |
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Will Allen Dromgoole |