A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

We completed a Trek with our Stake and it was a marvelous experience with spirit filled activities. One of those was to gather all the young men and young women for a devotional.

We all sang together the poignant song A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief. I was especially touched when we were reminded of Joesph's final hours on this earth in Carthage jail. He asked John Taylor to sing this beautiful hymn. Upon finishing the song, Joseph appeared to be so moved that he asked John Taylor to sing it again. Shortly after that, the mobs burst into the jail and murdered the prophet and his innocent brother.

We sat in a green meadow surrounded by beautiful waving aspen trees. The orange and red rays of the sun bathed our group as it began to set on the distant horizon. As we sung this beautiful hymn, I looked out over the valley and pondered the majesty of the Lord's creations. Rarely do we sing more than the first few verses of this touching hymn. Tears flowed from my eyes as we sang together the seventh verse. The whole point of the song is in that verse.

Below is a picture of the meadow in which we sang

Please read the words of the song and then listen to them sung in the video below:

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 pow'r 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 a-gain. 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.

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 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."

After reading the words of the hymn, please watch this short clip and imagine Joseph during the final hours of his life reflecting on the words: