An old woman 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 woman crossed through the painful blur,
The sullen stream had no fear for her;
But she turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old woman,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting your strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day,
You never again will pass this way;
You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
Why build this bridge at evening tide?”

The rebuilder lifted her old gray head;
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” she said,
“There followed after me to-day
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been as naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;
She, too, must cross over the painful blur;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for her!”