A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

Play now a history of A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

A Great Poem and also a Great Hymn!

 The Stranger and his Friend

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,

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, 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 ran 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 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.”

Poem by James Montgomery. The Stranger and his Friend. In Pelican Island and Other Poems (pp. 122-124). Philadelphia: E. Littell and J. Grigg. 1827.

The Hymn is often known by its first line, "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief".

Hymn listening link: http://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/a-poor-wayfaring-man-of-grief?lang=eng