A poor, wayfaring man of grief

This is one of my favorites. It is attributed to James Montgomery, 1826 according to TCH. The only print hymnal I've met it in is the 1985 Hymns of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS).

LDS (#29) sets it to a lively, folk-style tune (TCH MIDI) that it calls Duane Street by George Coles. It is, however, much livelier than what I take to be "the historical Duane Street" (TCH MIDI) though metrically they are compatible, and I think some older LDS collections set the text to the latter. TCH proposes Sagina, Sweet Hour, and St. Crispin as alternatives, but I like the current LDS choice, preferring to call it (with TCH) Man of Grief.

A footnote in LDS says "Hymn beloved of the Prophet Joseph Smith. See Histoy of the Church, 6:614-15."

In any event I find it a rollicking good Matthew 25:31-40 hymn. (Not to mention Mosiah 2:17, which is probably the passage Montgomery had in mind ;-).

And of course my hymnal will have all seven verses, just as with "How Firm a Foundation", another point where I agree with the Mormons.

The Text (from TCH)

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,
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.

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, 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 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.”