the days of my life

第86部分 (第2/7頁)

ded　in　answer　to　prayer；　it　is　an　inspiration　of　the　Spirit　of　our　Maker　which　flows　down　the　connecting　links　of　prayer。　By　prayer；　too；　I　do　not　mean　a　few　hurried　or　formal　mumblings　in　the　morning　or　at　bedtime：　I　mean　the　continual；　almost　the　hourly；　conversation　of　the　creature　with　his　God。　I　mean　the　habitual　uplifting　of　the　heart　to　heaven；　the　constant　cry　of　fallen　nature　in　sorrow；　in　joy；　in　sin；　in　every　circumstance　of　life；　to　the　Highest　of　all　natures；　who　remembers　of　what　metal　it　is　made　because　in　the　beginning　（ah！　what　beginning？）　it　was　from　Him　and　is　still　His　own。　Feeble；　unworthy　though　it　be；　such　prayer　offered　on　your　own　behalf　or　on　that　of　others；　I　am　sure　is　heard；　is　answered　across　the　unutterable　spaces　—　or　so　it　has　often　seemed　to　me　—　if　put　up　in　faith。　Sometimes　even；　for　a　little　while　it　causes　us　to　understand　what　is　meant　by　the　peace　of　God　that　passes　understanding。　Further；　it　is　as　necessary　to　the　sin…stained　soul　as　is　food　to　the　frail　body。　For　indeed　even　those　among　us；　with　whom　such　as　I　cannot　presume　to　rank　ourselves；　are　full　of　faults　and　must　appear　to　the　Perfect　Eye　as　though　stricken　with　a　moral　leprosy。　Our　only　hope；　knowing　and　remembering　these　faults；　however　oft　and　bitterly　repented　of；　is　to　say　like　the　man　in　the　temple；　“Lord；　I　am　a　miserable　sinner”；　to　seek　for　the　help　we　cannot　give　to　ourselves；　to　crave　that　we　too　may　be　sprinkled　with　the　atoning　Blood。　Why　this　should　be　necessary　I　cannot　say　—　for　who　can　prehend　these　wonders？　—　any　more　than　I　can　understand　the　origin　and　meanings　of　sin；　which　often　enough　seems　to　consist　merely　in　giving　obedience　to　the　imperious　demands　of　that　body　with　which　we　have　been　clothed。　The　gratification　of　these　impulses　generally　bees