Poor Wayfaring Man

“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” Project – Verse 1

0
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.

“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” Project – Verse 4

0
’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 and cheered my guest And laid him on my couch to rest, Then made the earth my bed and seemed In Eden’s garden while I dreamed.

“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” Project – Verse 5

0
Stript, 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.

“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” Project – Introduction

0
Introduction to the "Poor Wayfaring Man" project produced by students and staff mentors in the journalism program in the School of Communications at Brigham Young University.