A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief
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.
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.
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 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.
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.