It rode o’er the billows so rapid and free,
Right, right towards Garsia promontoree.
So rapid the stone to glide thither began,
A hundred miles space in one short hour it ran.
In comes a foot-boy, to the King doffs his bonnet:
“Here cometh a stone, and a man sits upon it.”
A woman rushed in, in her eyes wonder shone:
“Here cometh a man, and he sits on a stone.”
King Garsia taketh his axe in his hand,
And down he proceeds to the salt ocean strand.
“Now hear thou, Saint Jacob, I say unto thee,
What hast thou in this land, in this land here with me?”
“Unto thee I am come to this land ’cross the brine,
Because that my Maker is greater than thine.”
“O how can thy Maker be greater than mine?
Mine drinks every day the brown mead and the wine.”
“O then my Creator is greater than thine,
For mine can the water convert into wine.
“My Maker can turn the black mould into bread,
Can give life back to them who long, long have been dead.”