From "Joseph Smith the Prophet." Vocal solo, piano accompaniment. PDF format.
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.
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 prison 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 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 them unto me.”