Julia sings - A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

Today we heard an angel sing.  Julia.

The first counselor in the bishopric came up to me before Sacrament Meeting and told me that if he could, he would have her sing this song over and over the entire Sacrament Meeting time.  I'd have to agree!

I was in heaven.  John cried (like a baby as he would describe himself).  I would have too, but I was trying to keep Kendall quiet.

It is long ... the arrangement is amazing - piano and violin and Julia

I recorded the audio ... so enjoy listening in this window while you surf the web in another one!

A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

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.” 

James Montgomery