There is a legend, setting forth the power of touch, caught in
the amber of old Greek pages. From their palace on Olympus,
the gods looked down on barren fields. At last they sent Ceres
down, clothing her with the power of touch. She touched the
sand plain and it became a clover-field. She touched the bog
and it became the spring that widened into a river. She touched
the fallen log and it was clothed with moss and snow-drops.
She touched a thorn-bush and it became an olive, and the brier
ripened figs. Soon the gods, looking down, beheld hillsides
soft with flush of grass and clustered food. Oh, wondrous power
of the divine touch, setting forth the power of Christ and His
disciples upon the souls of men. Jesus touched a prodigal, and
he became a beautiful son; touched the Magdalen and she became
a sweet saint and the angel of purity; touched the murderer and
he became a hero, and dying, Jesus communicated the power of
touch to His disciples. Peter and John touched three thousand
enemies, and they became a church; touched slaves, gladiators,
Roman soldiers, and they became disciples of righteousness
and peace. And so the evangel of love spread, like a blest
contagion.--N. D. HILLIS.
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