April 7

"If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man."—James 3:2.

My tongue is a great power. Its words wound, or else they cure. They poison, or else they bless. Once they have gone forth from me, shot like arrows into the air, they will find their lodgment and they will accomplish their errand. I cannot recall them. I cannot cancel and undo them. For weal or for woe, they have sped away from me. There is a sense in which my words are my deeds; they achieve as much, of mercy or of misery, of healing or of harming, as my actions do.

Far too often my tongue has been an agent of mischief and hurt. It has spoken untenderly or untruly, harshly or hastily. It has suggested unworthy motives. It has made little of the faith and the works of my neighbours. It has magnified their failures and errors. It has been a firebrand. It has distributed bitter and corroding acids instead of the honeycomb. Sometimes it has not been ashamed to be the apologist and the propagandist of actual sin.

My Lord, regenerate and keep this tongue of mine. Refine it, and sweeten it, and sanctify it. May it love the voice of prayer, the voice of confession, the voice of stimulus, the voice of consolation and comfort, the voice of worship and thanksgiving. Let this be its resolve—

"Wherefore with my utmost art I will sing Thee, And the cream of all my heart I will bring Thee."

And in my case, from this day henceforward, may the old promise be fulfilled: For the grace of his lips the King shall be his friend.