Classic Poem

A CROSS the foaming river
—The old bridge bends its bow;
My father's fathers built it
—In ages long ago.

They never left the farmstead
—Past which the waters curled,
Why should one ever wander
—When here is all the world:

Family, friends and garden;
—Small fields of rice and tea;
The cattle in the meadow;
—The birds in stream and tree;

The pageant of the seasons
—As the slow years go by;
Between the peaks above us
—An azure bridge of sky.

The dead they live and linger
—In each familiar place
With kindly thoughts to hearten
—The children of their race.