BRIDGE IT OVER

 

BRIDGE IT OVER - A POEM

A PARABLE 

By Ε Μ Δ Γ Ε, E.M.A.F.Z.

I KNOW a river so strong and swift, 
It runs at last to the sea; 

And on its way, as it glides along, 

With sometimes a shout, and sometimes a song, 

It has ever a word for me.

It speaks in song where its banks are fair, 

And it slides on smooth between, 

Where grows the fungus fiery red, 

And the long fern raises its feathery head 

From out of the mosses green.

 But it speaks with a shout where it leaps the rocks 

That lie in its onward way; 

Where it leaps the rocks with a headlong bound, 

And scatters the damp white foam around, 

With a terrible mock of play.

With There never was swimmer yet so strong 

Could stem that turbulent tide; 

There never I know was built the boat 

Could through those dangerous waters float 

Safe to the farther side.

But though there ne'er was swimmer nor boat 

Could pass it, yet I see 

A grey old arch from shore to shore, 

With one wide span has bridged it o'er, 

And the torrent shouts to me.

It shouts: 'Now learn how much can be wrought 

By the patient heart and hand- 

By the diligent toil that will hew catch stone, 

And fit and join in one by one. 

The dreariest gulf is spanned!"

 Ε Μ Δ Γ Ε  

References:

Chatterbox 1877