He smiles; and now I see
Christ does not plead in vain for me!
Amazing love! what tongue can tell
The wondrous depths that in thee dwell?
What angel's mind can e'er explore
The riches of thy boundless store?
Oh, matchless love beyond degree,--
Christ bled, he died, and pleads for _me_!
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!"
THE ORPHAN.
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