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,
Whither 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,
That 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 to raise the sufferer 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, I clothed, I cheered my guest;
Laid Him on my own 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 prison I saw Him next, condemned
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored Him midst shame and scorn:
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for Him would die;
The flesh was weak, my blood run chill,
But the free spirit cried, “I will.”

Then in a moment to my view,
The stranger darted from disguise,
The tokens in his hands I knew,
My Saviour 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.”