“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” Project — Verse 2


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.

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