A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

Alternate Names

• The Stranger and His Friend
• The Stranger

Tunes

• Hyrum (Man of Grief), presumed to be by George Coles (though there is reasonable doubt)
• Duane Street, by George Coles
• Sagina, by Thomas Campbell, 1835
• St. Crispin, by George Job Elvey, 1862
• Sweet Hour, by William Batchelder Bradbury, 1861

Lyrics

• Poet: James Montgomery (1771–1854), 1826
• Copyright: Public Domain

Lyrics from A Collection of Sacred Hymns for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Europe, 1840

(this version did have some of the verses split up in half)

Hymn 225
L.M.D.
1. 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 power to ask his name,
Whither he went or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I know not why.

2. 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.

3. 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 sufferer up,
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipped and returned it running o'er;
I drank, and never thirsted more.

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

5. 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.

6. In prison I saw him next, - condemned
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honoured him mid'st 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 the free Spirit cried, "I will."

7. Then in a moment to my view,
The stranger started from disguise;
The tokens in his hands I knew,
My Saviour 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."