Rob Gardner A Poor Wayfaring Man Of Grief
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
Stripped, 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, refrеshment--he was healеd
I had myself a wound concealed
But from that hour forgot the smart
And peace bound up my broken heart
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!"
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."
