The Bridge

I stood upon life’s sinking sand,
And with an anxious eye I scanned
To find a way to Heaven’s strand,
Which lay beyond an awesome sea;
I thought that surely there must be
A bridge across that gulf for me.

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With haste I searched along life’s shore;
One thing I sought, and nothing more:
A bridge to flee the wrath in store
For those whose hope in this world lies:
The pit, the fire, the hopeless cries,
The tortured soul that never dies.

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I found a bridge of silver made;
On golden piers its form was laid,
And though with gems it was arrayed,
It fell far short of Heaven’s side;
“Alas!” its builder sadly cried,
“No earthly wealth can bridge that tide!’

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I found another built of deeds
And anchored down by righteous creeds;
“This one,” thought I, “to Heaven leads.”
But it, too, failed to span that sea—
The best that man can think or be
Shall never bridge eternity.

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Another bridge was built of fame;
How pitiful appeared its frame—
No one can cross on world acclaim.
Another bridge was neatly planned
Upon the intellect of man;
When it was tried, it failed to stand.
My heart was filled with agony
To find no bridge across that sea
Until a stranger called to me;
“I’ve found a bridge!” he gladly cried;
“Its form was laid from Heaven’s side
And spans that gulf so deep and wide.

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Along a narrow path he led
My weary soul until ahead
I saw a wondrous sign that read,
“The Cross of Christ—the only span
That offers to repentant man
A way of reaching Heaven’s strand.”

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I saw a bridge all stained with guilt;
A bridge no mortal hands had built,
And on its span Lamb’s blood was spilt;
Along its length a figure a lay:
A Son who cried, “I am the way!
The time of crossing is today.”