The longest bridge spans not two hundred miles,
Across quick rivers, gulfs, or deep divides,
Its graceful arches do not fly
Between the earth and the sky;
The longest bridge spans not two hundred miles.
The hardest march goes not through snow and bog,
It climbs no mountains through the rain and fog,
No hungry soldiers trudge and pray
For warmth and food and rest today;
The longest march goes not through snow and bog.
The oldest tale is written in no scroll,
And for its mighty heroes no bells toll,
Those who survived and those who died,
The children hold their ghosts inside;
The oldest tale is written in no scroll.
The longest bridge comes stretching from the past,
The generations march from first to last,
They live, and struggle, and create,
And, hoping plant, and hoping, wait;
The longest bridge flies stretching from the past.