Man fain would build a bridge to God
Across the fathomless abyss
That lies between his earth-bound soul
And heaven’s perfect bliss.
He takes his knowledge, small and vague,
The great inventions he has wrought,
His mightiest efforts, finest plans,
And his profoundest thought.
He binds them with his strands of straw,
His strings of tow, his ropes of sand,
With all the power and the skill
Of cunning brain and hand.
Through swirling mists he strains his eye,
Above the unseen torrent’s roar
He pushes forth the makeshift thing
And hopes to touch the shore.
But when he seeks to cross the chasm
With eager heart and step elate,
He finds his bridge too short to reach,
Too frail to bear his weight.
Oh, baseless dream! Oh, useless toil!
Oh, utter and eternal loss!
For God has laid, to span the void,
His Son upon the cross.
And when man’s broken bridges fall,
And sink into the gulf at last,
Still wide and long and safe and strong,
The bridge of God stands fast.
Annie Johnson Flint
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I wish you well.
This poem is so true that we can’t build that bridge! Jesus did!
So very grateful for Christ’s bridge.