[Written for the Sentinel.]

The Scourge of Love

Before I was afflicted I went astray.—Psalm.

"OH, spare the rod!" I grieving cried,
Yet closer hugged the well-loved sin
To my rebellious heart; and on
I struggled, anguish-laden, worn.
Earth-weary were my drooping eyes,
Nor dared I lift them to the hand—
The heavy hand that smote so sore!
Anon I stumbled, staggered, fell
Upon my knees low in the dust,
Shrinking beneath th' expected blow.
"O God, Thy help!" I raised my eyes—
And there above me, like a star,
The tender, pitying face of Love
Shone radiantly o'er all the path!
With joyous cry and lifted arms
I yearned to that fair vision, and lo!
The weight of sin fell all away
And vanished from my heaven-born sight.
"T was Love!" I cried in glad surprise:
"Father, I thank Thee for these wounds!"
Love smiled again; and they were healed.

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April 21, 1906

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