Along the Antrim paths He came

1.
Along the Antrim paths He came,
Through mist on heathered height;
Our hearts were worn with grief and fear,
Still stumbling t'ward the light.
The gorse burned gold beside the path,
A fulmar wheeled in air;
And Christ drew near with quiet grace
To speak our hope from fear.

2.
“You saw the Cross on Calv'ry’s hill,
You know the love I gave;
The God of life has raised Me up,
For death has lost its claim.”
The grey seals lifted drowsy heads
Beyond the breathing shore;
And in His voice the promise rose:
God’s mercy evermore.

3.
Our hearts within us burned again
As Scripture’s truth was shown;
The ancient words of prophets sang
Like wind through whin and stone.
A fox moved lightly through the whin,
Half‑seen at eventide;
Creation whispered with one voice:
“He walks the world alive.”

4.
He broke the bread at eventide,
And suddenly we knew:
The Risen Christ stood in our midst,
His peace both strong and true.
An otter slipped through silver pools,
Its joy a quiet sign;
And joy, once lost, returned to us—
Our God is here, divine.

5.
So let our lives be born anew
In love that does not fade;
Redeemed by Christ, we walk His way
Through every fear we’ve made.
The badger stirred beneath the hedge,
Night’s keeper in the clay;
And from the dawn of Antrim’s hills
We bear His light each day.

6.
We gather 'round the broken bread,
The wine of life outpoured;
By sacred Presence we are fed,
One Body in the Lord.
To Father, Son, and Spirit blest,
One God whom we adore;
In salt and spray, in wind and nest,
On this and every shore.

Hymn information

First line: Along the Antrim paths He came
Text: Michael McFarland Campbell
Metre: DCM
Tunes: Soll’s Sein or Resignation,
Theme: Easter 3, Year A Emmaus Road.

Reflection

There’s a quiet truth we sometimes mis in the Easter stories: the risen Christ does not arrive with overwhelming display, but with something disarmingly simple. In our translations he says, “Peace be with you.” But the word on his lips is Shalom—a word rich with meaning, yes, but also an ordinary, everyday, greeting. Something as simple, and as human, as “Hello.”

And that is how He meets them.

On the road,

“along the Antrim paths… through mist on heathered height,”

the disciples are still

“worn with grief and fear, stil stumbling toward the light.”

They are not ready. They are not expectant. They are simply walking, trying to make sense of what has happened. And Christ draws near

“With quiet grace to speak our hope from fear.”

He does not interrupt them with glory. He joins them in conversation.

The world around them has not stopped.

Creation continues, steady and attentive, as if already aware of what the disciples cannot yet see.

And into that ordinary, living world, Christ speaks.

Shalom
Hello.
It is me.

When He opens the Scriptures, “our hearts within us burned again… the ancient words of prophets sang like wind through whin and stone.” This is not new truth, but truth newly alive. The same words, now kindled by presence. The same story, now seen from within resurrection.

Even creation seems to lean toward it:

And still—they do not fully know Him. Not until the simplest of acts:

Recognition comes not through stpectacle, but througy familiarity. Through the gesture they had seen before. Through the nearness of one who had always been with them. And they know Him, everything changes—and yet, nothing outwardly has.

So when Christ stands among them and says Shalom, it is more than reassurance. It is restoration. A beginning again. Not because they have understood everything, but because He is present wit them.

And perhaps. this is where the Gospel meets us now. We, too, walk our roads—sometimes “worn with grief and fear,” sometimes only half-aware of grace beside us. We look for clarity, for certaintly, for soething unmistakable.

But the risen Christ still comes quietly. Still comes near. Still speaks in the language of everyday life. Not always with grandeur—but often with something as simple as:

Hello.

And in that word is everything:

peace, presence, forgiveness, and the possibility of beginning again.

So, “let our lives be born anew in love that does not fade,” walking on—through whatever lies ahead—bearing, even now, the light that first met us on the road.

Copyright

© Michael McFarland Campbell. 2026. 
Permission granted for local church or parish use with attribution. Not for commercial reproduction.

Written recently and shared here as part of the NeuroDivine hymn collection.