I met a man the other day, dressed in a linen smock
I met him up along the way, and in his hand he held a shepherd's crook
I asked him if he knew the way that I should take
To reach my journey's end
His voice was low, I scarcely heard him say
Keep to this path and onwards round the bend.

He had gentle kind of face, his hair was long and on his shoulder lay
A person of another race I thought from some land far away
He rested by a low stone wall, and at his feet an orphan of his flock
Curled like a little wooden ball, lay sleeping almost covered by his smock
Beyond him in the field his lambing pen a straw-built shack
Each labouring sheep to shield
Each new born lamb of snowy white or black.

I asked him had I far to go, smiling he shook his head
Not very far at all, he said
I thanked him then, wished him good day
And as I turned to go, the sunlight caught his hair
As he stooped down to where his orphan lay,
Was it just fantasy or or did I see a halo there?
It must have been a trick of light; reflection from the linen gown he wore
That so deceived my sight and formed the airy crown.

Perhaps it was the unfamiliar dress
That turned my thoughts to Christ that way,
I seldom see a shepherd now, much less
One dressed in half forgotten style of yesterday.

Onward I walked, and pondered on the scene and doubted too
I still could hear the flock's far distant cry
And looking back, it seemed the volume of their voices rose
And grew in number as though a wild marauding mob were passing by
I stood and watched in unbelief
As o'er the field he led his bleating flock.

Remembering now the look of grief
In his sad eyes, the halo'd head, the priestly frock
Slowly they followed him along
Towards a hill where stood a leafless broken Tree
The voices of that distant throng
Were like that multitude to me who cried at Calvary.

I heard the rabble's angry cry, I heard the weeping too
Away with him this Jewish king, this man from Galilee
And then it seemed I heard him cry
Oh father, why hast thou forsaken me.