Duane Street

Lyrics

A poor, wayfaring Man of grief
Hath often pass’d me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief
That I could never answer, ‘Nay.’
I had not 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.

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 bless’d it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again,
Mine was an angel’s portion then;
And while I fed with eager haste,
The crust was manna to my taste.

In pris’n I saw Him next, condemn’d
To meet a traitor’s doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemm’d,
And honor’d Him ’mid shame and scorn.
My friendship’s utmost zeal to try,
He ask’d, 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.’