Three hours he slept, and then he heard
A voice—­and yet a voice so low
It might have been a dreaming bird
Safe-nested by the rushing flow.

Almost he slept once more:  then, Hush! 
Once more he heard above the noise
And tempest of the river’s rush
The thin faint words of a child’s voice.

“Good Sir, awake from sleep and dream,
Good Sir, come out and carry me
Across this dark and raging stream
Till safe on the other side I be.”

Great Nial shivered on his bed: 
“No human creature calls this night,
It is a wild fetch of the dead,”
He thought, and shrunk, and shook with fright.

Once more he heard that infant-cry: 
“Come out, Good Sir, or else I drown—­
Come out, Good Sir, or else I die
And you, too, lose a golden crown.”

“A golden crown”—­so Nial thought—­
“No—­no—­not thus shall I be ta’en! 
Keep, ghost-of-the-night, your crown gold-wrought—­
Of sleep and peace I am full fain!”

Once more the windy dark was filled
With lonely cry, with sobbing plaint: 
Nial’s heart grew sore, its fear was stilled,
King Christ, he knew, would scorn him faint.

“Up, up thou coward, thou sluggard, thou,”
He cried, and sprang from off his bed—­
“No crown thou seekest for thy brow,
But help for one in pain and dread!”

Out in the wide and lonely dark
No fetch he saw, no shape, no child: 
Almost he turned again—­but hark! 
A song rose o’er the waters wild: 

A king am I
Tho’ a little Child,
Son of God am I,
Meek and mild,
Beautiful
Because God hath said
Let my cup be full
Of wine and bread.

Come to me
Shaken heart,
Shaken heart! 
I will not flee. 
My heart
Is thy heart
O shaken heart! 
Stoop to my Cup,
Sup,
Drink of the wine: 
The wine and the bread,
Saith God,
Are mine—­
My Flesh and my Blood!

Throw thy sword in the flood: 
Come, shaken heart: 
Fearful thou art! 
Have no more fear—­
Lo, I am here,
The little One,
The Son,
Thy Lord and thy King.

It is I who sing: 
Christ, your King.... 
Be not afraid: 
Look, I am Light,
A great star
Seen from afar
In the darkness of night: 
I am Light,
Be not afraid ... 
Wade, wade
Into the deep flood! 
Think of the Bread,
The Wine and the Bread
That are my Flesh and Blood,
Cross, cross the Flood,
Sure is the goal ... 
Be not afraid
O Soul,
Be not afraid!

Nial’s heart was filled with joy and pain: 
“This is my king, my king indeed: 
To think that drown’d in sleep I’ve lain
When Christ the Child-God crieth in need!”

Swift from his wattled hut he strode,
Stumbling among the grass and bent,
And, seeking where the river flowed,
Far o’er the dark flood peered and leant: