A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

1. 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 pow’r 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.

2. 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!”

3. 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.”