Lord Christ is Brother.
In the church-yard an hour ago
I saw a witch-girl crouching low,
But oh, she fell to weeping sore
For that she feared the cross I wore.
I’ll dry thy tears and lead thee home,
Good mothers have no wish to roam.”
—Nay, I must find my mother.—
—O fisher, coming in from sea,
Lay by the oar and answer me,