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!"