“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” Project – Verse 3


Verse 3 — Dominican Republic

 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.

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