“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” Project – Verse 4

 ’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.