164 DUANE STREET
to the Cooper book version of this tune
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 no pow'r to ask his name,
Whither he went or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.
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 rais'd 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.
In pris'n I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor's doom at morn.
The tide of lying tongues I stem'd
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 started from disguise;
The tokens in his hands I knew --
My Savior stood before my 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 it unto me."