A poor wayfaring Man of grief Hath often crossed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief That I could never answer nay. I had not power to ask his name, Whereto he went, or whence he came; Yet there was something in his eye That won my love; I knew not why. Once, when my scanty meal was spread, He entered; not a word he spake, Just perishing for want of bread. I gave him all; he blessed it, brake, And ate, but gave me part again. Mine was an angel's portion then, For while I fed with eager haste, The crust was manna to my taste. I spied him where a fountain burst Clear from the rock; his strength was gone. The heedless water mocked his thirst; He heard it, saw it hurrying on. I ran and raised the suff'rer up; Thrice from the stream he drained my cup, Dipped and returned it running o'er; I drank and never thirsted more. 'Twas night; the floods were out; it blew A winter hurricane aloof. I heard his voice abroad and flew To bid him welcome to my roof. I warmed and clothed and cheered my guest And laid him on my couch to rest; Then made the earth my bed, and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed. Stripped, wounded, beaten nigh to death, I found him by the highway side. I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, Revived his spirit, and supplied Wine, oil, refreshment?he was healed. I had myself a wound concealed, But from that hour forgot the smart, And peace bound up my broken heart. In pris'n I saw him next, condemned To meet a traitor's doom at morn. The tide of lying tongues I stemmed, And honored him 'mid shame and scorn. My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He asked if I for him would die. The flesh was weak; my blood ran chill, But my free spirit cried, ?I will!? Then in a moment to my view The stranger started from disguise. The tokens in His hands I knew; The Savior stood before mine eyes. He spake, and my poor name He named, ?Of Me thou hast not been ashamed. These deeds shall thy memorial be; Fear not, thou didst them unto Me.?
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