Hymnal: The Sacred Melodeon
Date: 1848
Compiler: A S Hayden
Publisher/Printer: A S Hayden
First Line: A poor wayfaring man of grief
Topic: <no topic given>
Writer: <no first name given> <no last name given>
Composer: George Coles
Tune: A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief
Hymn Number: <no hymn number given>
Page Number: 244, click to see hymnal pages
LyicsA poor, wayfaring man of grief
Hath often cross'd my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,
That I could never answer Nay.
I had not pow'r to ask his name,
Whither he wont, 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;
I gave him all; he bless'd it brake,
And ate, but gave me past again;
Mine was an angel's portion then,
And 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 mock'd his thirst;
He heard it, saw it hurrying on.
I ran and raised the sufferer up;
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup;
Dipp'd and returned it running o'er,
I drank, and never thirsted more.
'Twas night: the floods were out; it blew
A wintry hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof.
I warm'd, I clothed, I cheer'd my guest;
Laid him on mine own couch to rest;
Then made the earth my bed, and seem'd
In Eden's garden while I dream'd.
Stripp'd, 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 heal'd.
I had, myself, a wound conceal'd;
But from that hour, forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.
In prison I saw him next, condemn'd
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd,
And honour'd him 'mid shame and scorn.
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He ask'd if I for him would die.
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, "I will!"
Then, in a moment, to my view
The stranger started from disguise;
The tokens in his hand I knew;
My Saviour stood before my 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 it unto me."