merely those which affect our spiritual interests, but those as well which seem to be only worldly matters. Nothing that concerns us in any way is matter of indifference to God. One writes: "Learn to entwine with your prayers the small cares, the trifling sorrows, the little wants of daily life. Whatever affects you,—be it a changed look, an altered tone, an unkind word, a wrong, a wound, a demand you cannot meet, a sorrow you cannot disclose,—turn it into prayer and send it up to God. Disclosures you may not make to man, you can make to the Lord. Men may be too little for your great matters; God is not too great for your small ones. Only give yourself to prayer, whatever be the occasion that calls for it."

We soon find, however, if we are really earnest, that our desires are too great for words. We have in our hearts feelings, hungerings, affections, longings, which we want to breathe out to God; but when we begin to speak to him, we find no language adequate for their expression. We try to tell God of our sorrow for sin, of our weakness and sinfulness, then of our desire to be better, to love Christ more, to follow him more closely, and of our hunger after righteousness, after holiness; but it is very little of these deep cravings that we can get into speech.

Language is a wonderful gift. The power of putting into words the thoughts and emotions of our souls, that others may understand them, is one of the most marvellous powers the Creator has bestowed upon us. Thus we communicate our feelings and desires the one to the other. It is a sore deprivation when the gates of speech are shut and locked, and when the soul cannot tell its thoughts.

Yet we all know, unless our thoughts and feelings are very shallow and trivial, that even the wonderful faculty of language is inadequate to express all that the soul can experience. No true orator ever finds sentences majestic enough to interpret the sentiments that burn in his soul. Deep, pure love is never able to put into words its most sacred feelings and emotions. It is only the commonplace of the inner life that can be uttered in even the finest language. There is always more that lies back, unexpressed, than is spoken in any words.

It is specially true of prayer that we cannot utter its deepest feelings and holiest desires. We have comfort, however, in the assurance that God can hear thoughts. He knows what we want to say and cannot express. Your dearest friend may stand close to you when your mind is full of thoughts, but unless you speak or give some sign, he cannot know one of your thoughts. He may lay his ear close to your heart, and he will hear its throbbings; but he cannot hear your feelings, your desires. Yet God knows all that goes on in your soul. Every thought that flies through your brain is heard in heaven.

  "O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.
  Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising,
  Thou understandest my thought afar off.
  Thou searchest out my path and my lying down,
  And art acquainted with all my ways.
  For there is not a word in my tongue,
  But, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether."

We need not trouble ourselves, therefore, if we cannot get our wishes into words when we pray, for God hears wishes, heart-longings, soul hungerings and thirstings. The things we cannot say in speech of the lips, we may ask God to take from our heart's speech. There is not the feeblest, faintest glimmer of a desire rising on the far-away horizon of our being, but God sees it. There is not a heart-hunger, not a wish to be holier and better, not an aspiration to be more Christ-like, not a craving to live for God and be a blessing to others, not the faintest desire to be rid of sin's power, but God knows of it. St. Paul has a wonderful word on this subject: God, he says, "is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think." When our heart is stirred to its depths, what large, great things can we ask in words? Then, how much can we put into thoughts of prayer, into longings, desires, aspirations, beyond the possibilities of speech? God can do more than we can pray either in words or thoughts.

Our truest praying is that which we cannot express in any words, our heart's unutterable longings, when we sit at God's feet and look up into his face and do not speak at all, but let our hearts talk.

  "Rather as friends sit sometimes hand in hand,
  Nor mar with words the sweet speech of their eyes;
  So in soft silence let us oftener bow,
  Nor try with words to make God understand.
  Longing is prayer; upon its wings we rise
  To where the breath of heaven beats upon our brow."

Our best, truest prayers are not for earthly things, but for spiritual blessings. When the objects are temporal, we do not know what we should pray for—what would be really a blessing to us. You are a loving parent, and your child is very ill. It seems that it must die. You fall upon your knees before God to pray, but you do not know what to ask. Your breaking heart would quickly plead, "Lord, spare my precious child"; but you do not know that that is best. Perhaps to live would not be God's sweetest gift to your child, or to you. So, not daring to choose, you can only say, "Lord God, I cannot speak more; but thou knowest thy child; thou understandest what is best."

Or, some plan of yours, which you have long cherished, seems about to be thwarted. You go to God, and begin to pray; but you do not know what to ask. You can only say, "Lord, I cannot tell what is best; but thou knowest." What a comfort it is that God does indeed know, and that we may safely leave our heart's burden in his hand, without any request whatever!

  "Lord, I had chosen another lot,
    But then I had not chosen well;
  Thy choice, and truly thine, was good;
    No different lot, search heaven or hell,
  Had blessed me, fully understood,
  None other which thou orderest not."

We can do little more than this in any request for temporal things. Says Archdeacon Farrar: "There are two things to remember about prayers for earthly things: One, that to ask mainly for earthly blessings is a dreadful dwarfing and vulgarization of the grandeur of prayer, as though you asked for a handful of grass, when you might ask for a handful of emeralds; the other that you must always ask for earthly desires with absolute submission of your own will to God's." So silence is oft-times the best and truest praying—bowing before God in life's great crises; but saying nothing, leaving the burden in God's hand without any choosing. We are always safe when we let God guide us in all our ways.

  "Ill that he blesses is our good,
    And unblest good is ill;
  And all is right that seems most wrong,
    If it be his sweet will."

Many of the richest possibilities of prayer lie beyond valleys of pain and sorrow. The best things of life cannot be gotten save at sore cost. When we pray for more holiness, we do not know what we are asking for; at least we do not know the price we must pay to get that which we ask. Our "Nearer, my God, to thee," must be conditioned by, and often can come only through,

  "E'en though it be a cross,
        That raiseth me."

Not only are the spiritual things the best things, but many times the spiritual things can be grasped only by letting go and losing out of our hands the earthly things we would love to keep. God loves us too much to grant our prayers for comfort and relief, even when we make them, if he can do it