I met a walking-man;
His head was old and grey.
I gave him what I had
To crutch him on his way.
The man was Mary's Son, I'll swear;
A glory trembled in his hair!
And since that blessed day
I've never known the pinch:
I plough a broad townland,
And dig a river-inch;
And on my hearth the fire is bright
For all that walk by day or night.