The Wayfarer Poem by Anna Johnston MacManus

He had no crown upon his head
When first he met me by the way,
His feet upon the thorns had bled,
His gown was trodden gray:
But in his eyes, stars, moon, and sun,
Were one.

He came, his empty hands outheld,
I gave to him with glad good-will:
And since my pitying heart rebelled
That he should fare so ill,
I took his gold head to my breast
For rest.

Then lo! his empty hands were piled
With all gifts craved in dreams of mine,
And over me the pilgrim-child
Spilled benefits divine:
Joy, Heart's Desire, and Peace most fair,
Fell there.

For my great pity in his stress
Because that sad and bare he went,
I now am clad with happiness,
And rich in sweet content:
'Twas Love, the King, who crossed my way
To-day.