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!