I am the mountainy singer, 
And I would sing of the Christ 
Who followed the paths thro' the mountains 
To eat at the people's tryst. 
 
He loved the sun-dark people 
As the young man loves his bride, 
And he moved among their thatches, 
And for them he was crucified. 
 
And the people loved him, also, 
More than their houses or lands, 
For they had known his pity 
And felt the touch of his hands. 
 
And they dreamed with him in the mountains 
And they walked with him on the sea, 
And they prayed with him in the garden, 
And bled with him on the tree. 
 
Not ever by longing and dreaming 
May they come to him now, 
But by the thorns of sorrow 
That bruised his kingly brow.