E.M.Bounds

The prayers of holy men are ever streaming up to God, as fragrant as the richest incense. And God, in many ways, is speaking to us, declaring His wealth and our impoverishment: “I am the Maker of all things; the wealth and glory are Mine

Nevertheless, we can have all that God has for us.

We can do all things by God’s aid, and we can have the whole of His aid by asking. This is no figment of the imagination, no idle dream, no vain fancy.
The Gospel, in its success and power, depen

dispensations of God depend on man’s ability to pray. And yet, conscious as we are of the importance of prayer, of its vital importance, we let the hours pass away as a blank. Fénelon, a French prelate and writer of the late 1600s and early 1700s, has said,
Of all the duties enjoined by Christianity, none is more essential and yet more neglected than prayer. Most people consider the exercise a fatiguing ceremony, which they are justified in abridging as much as possible. Even those whose profession or fears lead them to pray, pray with such languor and wanderings of mind that their prayers, far from drawing down blessings, only increase their condemnation.
This is the way in which many, if not all, of us act about prayer; yet, in the end, we will only lament in death the irreparable loss that we have laid upon ourselves. T

In God’s name, I beseech you, let prayer nourish your soul as your meals nourish your body. Let your fixed seasons of prayer keep you in God’s presence through the day, and may His presence frequently remembered through it be an ever fresh spring of prayer. Such a brief, loving recollection of God renews a man’s whole being, quiets his passions, supplies light and counsel in difficulty, gradually subdues the temper, and causes him to possess his soul in patience, or rather gives it up to the possession of God.
—Fénelon
It was said of the late Charles Spurgeon that he glided from laughter to prayer with the naturalness of one who lived in both elements. With him, the

habit of prayer was free and unfettered. His life was not divided into compartments, the one shut off from the other with a rigid exclusiveness that barred all intercommunication. He lived in constant fellowship with his Father in heaven. He was ever in touch with God, and thus it was as natural for him to pray as it was for him to breathe.
“What a fine time we have had; let us thank God for it,” he said to a friend on one occasion, when, out under the blue sky and wrapped in glorious sunshine, they had enjoyed a holiday with the unfettered enthusiasm of schoolboys. Prayer sprang as spontaneously to his lips as ordinary speech did, and there was never the slightest incongruity in his approach to the divine throne after any of his activities.
That is the attitude with regard to prayer that ought to mark every child of God. There are, and there ought to be, set seasons of communion with God, when everything else is shut out and we come into His presence to talk to Him

and to let Him speak to us. And out of such seasons will spring that beautiful habit of prayer that weaves a golden bond between earth and heaven. Without these seasons of prayer, set as a pattern in our lives, the habit of prayer can never be formed; without them, there is no nourishment for the spiritual life. By means of them, the soul is lifted into a new atmosphere—the atmosphere of the heavenly city, in which it is easy to open the heart to God and to speak with Him as friend speaks with friend.
Thus, in every circumstance of life, prayer is the most natural outpouring of the soul, the unhindered turning to God for communion and direction. Whether in sorrow or in joy, in defeat or in victory, in weakness or in health, in calamity or in success, the heart leaps to meet with God, just as a child runs to his mother’s arms, ever sure that her sympathy will meet every need.
Dr. Adam Clarke, in his autobiography, recorded that, when Mr. Wesley was returning to England by ship, considerable delay was caused by contrary

winds. Wesley was reading, when he became aware of some confusion on board; and asking what was the matter, he was informed that the wind was contrary. “Then,” was his reply, “let us go to prayer.”
After Dr. Clarke had prayed, Wesley broke out into fervent supplication that seemed to be more the offering of faith than of mere desire. “Almighty and everlasting God,” he prayed, “You have sway everywhere, and all things serve the purpose of Your will. You hold the winds in Your fists and sit upon the floods of water, and You reign as King forever. Command these winds and these waves, that they may obey You, and take us speedily and safely to the haven where we wish to go.”
The power of this petition was felt by all. Wesley rose from his knees, made no remark, but took up his book and continued reading. Dr. Clarke went on deck, and to his surprise found the vessel under sail, standing on her right course. Nor did she change until she was safely at anchor. On the sudden and

On the sudden and favorable change of wind, Wesley made no remark; he so fully expected to be heard that he took it for granted that he was heard.
That was prayer with a purpose—the definite and direct utterance of one who knew that he had the ear of God, and that God had the willingness as well as the power to grant the petition that he asked of Him.
Major D. W. Whittle, in an introduction to writings on the wonders of prayer, told this story about George Müller:
I met Mr. Müller in the express, the morning of our sailing from Quebec to Liverpool. About half an hour before the tender2 was to take the passengers to the ship, he asked of the agent if a deck chair had arrived for him from New York. He was answered, “No,” and told that it could not possibly come in time for the steamer. I had with me a chair I had just purchased, and told Mr. Müller of the place nearby, and suggested, as but a few moments remained, that he had better buy one at once.

His reply was, “No, my brother. Our heavenly Father will send the chair from New York. It is one used by Mrs. Müller. I wrote ten days ago to a brother, who promised to see it forwarded here last week. He has not been prompt, as I would have desired, but I am sure our heavenly Father will send the chair. Mrs. Müller is very sick on the sea, and has particularly desired to have this chair; and not finding it here yesterday, we have made a special prayer that our heavenly Father would provide it for us, and we will trust Him to do so.”
As this dear man of God went peacefully on board, running the risk of Mrs. Müller making the trip without a chair, when, for a couple of dollars, she could have been provided for, I confess I feared Mr. Müller was carrying his faith principles too far and not acting wisely. I was kept at the express office ten minutes after Mr. Müller left. Just as I started to hurry to the wharf, a team of horses drove up the street, and on top of a load just arrived from New York was Mr. Müller’s chair.