[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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