A poor wayfaring man of grief Hath often crossed me on my way Who sued so humbly for reilef That I could never answer nay I had not power to ask his name Where to he want 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 angels portion then. But while I fed with eager haste The crust was manna to my taste. In prison 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." These deeds shall thy memorial be; Fear not, thou didst them unto me."