I MET A WALKING-MAN

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.