Poetry: The Stranger And His Friend

A poor wayfaring man of grief Hath often croseed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief, That I could never an.wer noy, I hnd not power to ask his name, Whither lie went or whence he carne; Vet there was something in his eye, Which wou my love, I knew not why. Once, when my scanty meal was spread, lie entered - not a word lie spake- Just perishing for wnnt of bread, í gave liim all; he blessed it, brake, And ate, but gave me part ngain: Mine was an angel's portion then, For while I fed with enger haste. Thecrust was manna to my tasto. 1 ppved iúm whorea fountnin burst CJcar t'roui the nock:hsstrength was gone; The heedlcps water oiodfed his tliirst: fie heard it, aw it huirying on - I ran vmd rised the suflferer up, Thrtce frotn thc stream he drained niy cup, Dipped, and returned it runnhíg o'er: I drank, and íiever thirsted more. 'Twas night. The fioorts were out, it blew A winter hurricane aloof: I heard his v'oice abroad, and ílew To bid him wefco-nre to my roof-, f warmecl, I clothed, I cbeered my gucsf, Ï laid hin on my conch to Test : Then made the ground ra y bed, and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed.Stripped, wonnded, beaten n'ujrh to leath, I found hkn by the highwny side; I rouscd his pn!se. broujiht back his breath, Revi ved his spirit, and stipplied Winc, oil, refrcshment - he was healed, T had mvselfa wound conceded, Cut froai that hour forgot the smart, And peace bouud up my broken heart. I saw him blceding n his chnïns, And tortured 'neath the driver's lash, His sweat feil fast alnng the plnin.s, Deep dyed from many a frightful gash: But I in bond rcmcmbered him. And strove to free each feltered Ihnb, As with my tears I washed his blood, Me he baptized with mercy's flood. ï saw him in the negro pew, His head hung ]ow upon his breast, His locks were wet with drops of dew, Oathered while he for ent ranee pre?sed Within those aisies, vvhose courts are given Thai black and white may reach onc heaven; And as T meekly songht his feet, He smiled, and made a throno my seal.In prison I saw him next condemned To meet a traitor's doom at mom; The tide of !yiur töngiiès I stemmed, And honored him midst shameand scorn. My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He asked ïf I for him would die; The flesii was weak, my blood ran chili, But the free spirit cried, "I will." Then in a momeut lo my view, The Ptrangrr d.irtcd from disgtiise; The tokens in his hands I knew, My Savior stood before my eyes! He spoke and my poor name he named "Of me thou hast not been aslwmed, These deeda shnll fhy memorial be; Fcar not, thou didst them unto me."The 6th and 7th stanzas. os they occur in Ons order, wcre vrittsn bylhe Rev. Charles W. Denjson. The liymn, as it cxisted oririnally, without ihis addition, was composed by James Monfgomery, Esq. Mr. Isaac Vanlier, at Florence, Alubnmn, a few daye since. ordercd a negro off his premies, and enforced his order by striking h'íftj with n cowliide. The negro resietêd by throwing rv.cks' at Uw, when Mr. V. drevv a pisto! and shot him through the head. A coronéis jury r.Hurned a verdict of iustiliable otmcide ! ! At a militio muster at Windsor, N. C, on the 3d iiist., Mr. Cheathom drew a pisto) and Bhota Mr. Weeion, who had, in sport knocket'hishat frofb his head. Weston dicd iñBtnntly, and tbe murdcrer was suffcred to i Cape. i