With us it may not be the actual suffering of death, as it was with our Lord; but that we may truly follow Him, and do what we can for the good of others, we must hold life, with all its endearments, subject to any call for sacrifice that may be made on us; and actually give up, from day to day, just as much of the present life, its pleasures or interests, as may be necessary, that we may render the best possible service in the kingdom of Christ. We have the privilege of daily martyrdom, to be followed by its honors and blessedness, in whatsoever circumstances we may be placed: how much of the sufferings that sometimes accompany the spirit and the act, we need not concern ourselves to inquire.
THE UNKIND WORD.
Ay—far in the feeling heart
Cast the unkind word till it smiteth,
Till deep in the flesh like a poisoned dart
It stingeth—and ruthlessly biteth!
What need that the blood
In a crimson flood
Flow fast from the throbbing veins—
What need—if a sob
Or the heart's wild throb
Betoken the horrible pains?
The tears are forced from the mournful eyes
As the angry word proceedeth;
Little it cares for the stifled sighs,
Little recks if the sad heart bleedeth;—
But onward it goes
While the life-blood flows
Fast—fast on its terrible path;
It laughs at the moan,
And the low subdued groan,
As it cuts so deep in its wrath.
But soft on its track,
And calling it back,
Soothing the wound it has made,
A Spirit of Love
Comes down from above,
In heavenly beauty arrayed—
An angel of peace
Who bids the tears cease,
And stops the red life-blood's flow,
And the poisoned dart
Draws out of the heart,
That dart that had torn it so,
And heals o'er the skin—
But look then within,
There still is a scar below!