A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

A poor wayfaring man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way
Who sued so humbly for reilef
That I could never answer nay
I had not power to ask his name
Where to he want 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 angels portion then.
But while I fed with eager haste
The crust was manna to my taste.
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 '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.»
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me."