LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.

Arrows dipped in poison flew

From the fatal bow;

And they pierced my bosom through,

And they laid me low.

Every nerve to anguish strung,

In distress I cried:

And the waste around me rung,

But no voice replied.

“Cruel was the hand,” I said,

“That could draw the bow:

Curses rest upon the head

Of my heartless foe!”

Turning straightway at the sound,

In the tangled wood,

Pale, and bearing many a wound,

There a stranger stood.

Mournfully on me he gazed,

Not a word he said:

But one hand the stranger raised,

And I saw it bled.

Blood was flowing from his side

And his thorn-pierced brow;

“Who has wounded thee?” I cried,

And he answered, “Thou!”

Then I knew the Stranger well,

And with sobs and tears

Prostrate at his feet I fell,

But he soothed my fears.

“Thou hast wounded me, but live,—

And my blessing take:

Henceforth wilt thou not forgive

Freely for my sake?”

Resting in his fond embrace,

Eased of every woe,—

Then I said, with smiling face,

“Jesus, bless my foe!”