A Covered Bridge at Lucerne by Henry W. Longfellow

PRINCE HENRY.
God’s blessing on the architects who build
The bridges o’er swift rivers and abysses
Before impassable to human feet,
No less than on the builders of cathedrals,
Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across
The dark and terrible abyss of Death.
Well has the name of Pontifex been given
Unto the Church’s head, as the chief builder
And architect of the invisible bridge
That leads from earth to heaven.

ELSIE.
How dark it grows!
What are these paintings on the walls around us?

PRINCE HENRY.
The Dance Macabre!

ELSIE.
What?

PRINCE HENRY.
The Dance of Death!
All that go to and fro must look upon it,
Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath,
Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river
Rushes, impetuous as the river of life,
With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright,
Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it.

ELSIE.
Oh yes! I see it now!

PRINCE HENRY.
The grim musician
Leads all men through the mazes of that dance,
To different sounds in different measures moving;
Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum,
To tempt or terrify.

ELSIE.
What is this picture?

PRINCE HENRY.
It is a young man singing to a nun,
Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling
Turns round to look at him; and Death, meanwhile,
Is putting out the candles on the altar!

ELSIE.
Ah, what a pity ‘t is that she should listen
Unto such songs, when in her orisons
She might have heard in heaven the angels singing!

PRINCE HENRY.
Here he has stolen a jester’s cap and bells
And dances with the Queen.

ELSIE.
A foolish jest!

PRINCE HENRY.
And here the heart of the new-wedded wife,
Coming from church with her beloved lord,
He startles with the rattle of his drum.

ELSIE.
Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps ‘t is best
That she should die, with all the sunshine on her,
And all the benedictions of the morning,
Before this affluence of golden light
Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray,
Then into darkness!

PRINCE HENRY.
Under it is written,
“Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!”

ELSIE.
And what is this, that follows close upon it?

PRINCE HENRY.
Death playing on a dulcimer. Behind him,
A poor old woman, with a rosary,
Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet
Were swifter to o’ertake him. Underneath,
The inscription reads, “Better is Death than Life.”

ELSIE.
Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands
Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings
That song of consolation, till the air
Rings with it, and they cannot choose but follow
Whither he leads. And not the old alone,
But the young also hear it, and are still.

PRINCE HENRY.
Yes, in their sadder moments. ‘T is the sound
Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears,
Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water,
Responding to the pressure of a finger
With music sweet and low and melancholy.
Let us go forward, and no longer stay
In this great picture-gallery of Death!
I hate it! ay, the very thought of it!

ELSIE.
Why is it hateful to you?

PRINCE HENRY.
For the reason
That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely,
And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful.

ELSIE.
The grave itself is but a covered bridge,
Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!

PRINCE HENRY, emerging from the bridge.
I breathe again more freely! Ah, how pleasant
To come once more into the light of day,
Out of that shadow of death! To hear again
The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground,
And not upon those hollow planks, resounding
With a sepulchral echo, like the clods
On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies
The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, appareled
In light, and lingering, like a village maiden,
Hid in the bosom of her native mountains
Then pouring all her life into another’s,
Changing her name and being! Overhead,
Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air,
Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines.

They pass on.

Why wait until your last faint gasps of earthen air to see the light, to bask in its comforting glow and feel that you are finally going home? Life and light are available here and now. The idea that life is a hollow mockery of a barren womb, something to be endured while trying with all your might to keep your chin up, is a blasphemous lie.

To every man, woman and child, the following question is asked: will you live in awe and respect of life more than you honor and fear death? Both are available in the human experience, yet neither is obligatory no matter how well-worn the path may be to one or the other.

The musicians of hatred, that is, fear, anger, bitterness, pettiness, sadness, impotence, martyrdom, depravity, self-centeredness, and others skulk about in the shadow of death, whispering at times and screaming at others to passersby in an attempt to draw them in like sirens on the rocky shore that border the river of life. Death plays to the tune of drudgery and mediocrity and scores of otherwise well-intentioned men and women have lived their lives humming to this tune, failing to ever find it in themselves to pass through to the light that is available on earth, here and now.

What about you? Which song moves your heart most often and most deeply?

You can give yourself to either and both can be heard in churches and schoolyards, homes and offices around the world. The only value of sacred sites is found in the degree to which those who dwell therein hold sacred the light of day in their hearts and minds, no matter how unyielding the grip of darkness may be on their present circumstance.

The light of life can shine anywhere on earth that there is one who is willing to provide the invisible bridge between heaven and earth, as Longfellow so beautifully described it. Life is not a barren and frigid place, it is eternally pregnant with newness. Life is the breath of fresh air. Light is its nature.