THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.
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 was there 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 to raise the sufferer up;
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipt, 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, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest:
Then made the hearth 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. 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 the free spirit cried, I will. Then in a moment to my view
The stranger darted from disguise,
The token 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."