  ’Twas a faith that was held by the Northmen bold, In the ages long, long ago, That the river of death, so dark and cold, Was spanned by a radiant bow; A rainbow bridge to the blest abode Of the strong Gods—free from ill, Where the beautiful Urda fountain flowed, Near the ash tree Igdrasill. They held that when, in life’s weary march, They should come to that river wide, They would set their feet on the shining arch, And would pass to the other side. And they said that the Gods and the Heroes crossed That bridge from the world of light, To strengthen the Soul when its hope seemed lost, In the conflict for the right. O, beautiful faith of the grand old past! So simple, yet so sublime, A light from that rainbow bridge is cast Far down o’er the tide of time. We raise our eyes, and we see above, The souls in their homeward march; They wave their hands and they smile in love, From the height of the rainbow arch. We know they will drink from the fountain pure That springs by the Tree of Life, We know that their spirits will rest secure From the tempests of human strife; So we fold our hands, and we close our eyes, And we strive to forget our pain, Lest the weak and the selfish wish should rise, To ask for them back again. The swelling tide of our grief we stay, While our warm hearts fondly yearn, And we ask if over that shining way They shall nevermore return. O, we oft forget that our lonely hours Are known to the souls we love, And they strew the path of our life with flowers, From that rainbow arch above. We hear them call, and their voices sweet Float down from that bridge of light, Where the gold and crimson and azure meet, And mingle their glories bright. We hear them call, and the soul replies, From the depths of the life below, And we strive on the wings of faith to rise To the height of that radiant bow. Like the crystal ladder that Jacob saw, Is that beautiful vision given, The weary pilgrims of earth to draw To the life of their native heaven. For ’tis better that souls should upward tend, And strive for the victor’s crown, Than to ask the angels their help to lend, And come to man’s weakness down. That rainbow bridge in the crystal dome, O’er a swiftly flowing tide, Is the shining way to the spirit home, That lies on the other side. To man is the tempest cloud below, And the storm wind’s fatal breath, But for those who cross o’er that shining bow, There is no more pain nor death. O, fair and bright does that archway stand, Through the silent lapse of years, Fashioned and reared by no human hand, From the sunshine of love and tears. Sweet spirits, our footsteps are nearing fast The light of the shining shore; We shall cross that rainbow bridge at last, And greet you in joy once more. |
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