June 30

"Ye are the salt of the earth."—Matthew 5:13.

Ye are the salt of the earth, my Master says.

Salt is diffusive. It spreads itself rapidly through the substance with which it is mingled. Thus should it be with the grace of Christ in my soul. It ought to go forth, outward beyond the power of man to follow it, downward through succeeding generations, forward through the ages of eternity. It ought to spread itself in ever-widening circles until only the eye of God is able to trace it—until nothing but the apocalypse of the great day will reveal its extent to me.

Salt is preserving. It has the power to prevent corruption and decay. And I should be a means of saving the earth from moral putrefaction and death. Not only for my sake should the poor defiled world continue to live in God's sight, but by my effort too. I must rebuke and shame prevalent sin. I must remind others of neglected duty. I must compel them to pay tribute to Christ and His law.

Salt is health-giving. The use of it is needful if the body is to live and grow. So I should be seasoning with wholesome piety my whole neighbourhood—by making the truth known, by exhibiting the beauty of holiness, by intercessory prayer, by persuasive and heaven-taught speech. Like Andrew, I must bring my brother Simon to Jesus. Like Paul, I must travail in birth till Christ is formed in souls.

Let me be careful that the salt in me does not lose its savour. What if I should be growing cold and unprofitable? What if there should be "bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang"? Then so many will suffer beside myself.

July.

THE DIVINE SURGEON.

THY wounds are five: two in Thy feet, Two in Thy hands, and one within Thy side, that pierced Thy heart divine. Yet what are Thy five wounds to mine? The innumerable wounds of sin Wherewith my death is nigh complete.

Behold my wounds, transcending even Thine own, and, heavenly Surgeon, haste! Heal what is not past healing; yea, And with Thy kind knife cut away Mortified parts that burn and waste. Thy probe, Thy lancet are of Heaven.

Once I was all of Heaven, not far Beyond the threshold of my birth. Now I am all of earth, and bound So fast to this poor plot of ground. Cut Thou my thongs that bind to earth, And bid me soar even to Thy star!

KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON.