WHAT IS PRAYER?

WHAT is prayer? It is the earnest desire of the heart for something that we think we need, and that we want to obtain. To repeat a few words with the lips may be called saying our prayers, but this is not No. 55. JULY, 1842. H

prayer, unless we feel in our hearts an earnest desire for what we ask.

A little girl was playing on a green bank, by the side of a large pond: her foot slipped, and she fell into the water, where she would soon have been drowned, if there had been no one near to save her; but a man was working in the next field, who saw her danger, and ran to help her. You can imagine how earnestly she called to him when she fell, and how great was her desire that he should hear and help her.

One day, a poor old man went to the door of a gentleman's house, and begged for a little food. He had not tasted anything for two days, and he was famishing with hunger; he had nothing to eat, and no money to buy a loaf of bread. He begged for a dry crust, to save him from dying of want; and when the servants would have sent him away, without relief, he again and again asked them to pity him, in the most intreating words, and even with tears.

From either of these cases you may learn what I mean by an earnest desire of the heart. The little girl who was in danger of drowning, the poor man who was perishing with hunger, each felt this earnest desire. The same earnest desire should be in our hearts, when we pray to God for his mercy, and ask for the salvation of our souls.

Prayer to the great Being who made us,

and who gives us all our blessings, is indeed a solemn employment. If we are in earnest when we seek for favours from our earthly friends and benefactors, we ought to be much more serious and concerned when we make our requests known unto God. Yet how often will children kneel down, night and morning, to thank him for his mercies, and to ask that he will keep them while they live, and take their souls to heaven when they die, and all the time that they are saying the words, their hearts and thoughts are wandering to their pleasures and their play. Can this be prayer? Oh! no. It is a grievous sin and God, who looks upon the heart, has never promised to grant such prayers as these.

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When Christ was living in the world, his disciples, who knew that they needed to be taught, intreated that he would teach them in what manner they ought to pray. They did not know what words to use, nor how to address the mighty God who created the heavens and the earth; but Jesus kindly said to them, "After this manner pray ye;" and then he taught them that prayer which we find written in the Testament, and which we call the Lord's Prayer, because Christ's disciples learned it from him. Jesus not only taught them what they should say, but, by his Holy Spirit, he put into their minds good desires, so that they prayed with their

hearts as well as with their lips, and God heard their prayers, and gave to them holiness and wisdom, and made them the ministers of his word.

Young reader, where are your thoughts, when you kneel down to pray? Do you remember that you are speaking to God, who hears your words, and can also read all that may be passing in your mind? And do you desire to pray to him with all your heart, and to worship him in spirit and in truth? If so, the same gracious Saviour who taught his disciples to pray is ready to teach you. Ask him to help you by his Spirit, that you may have no sinful and idle

thoughts while you are repeating the words of prayer; and though you are only a weak and simple child, yet he will not fail to hear you. Say to him, Lord, teach me to pray" and if you say it from your heart, Jesus will answer that prayer.

Croydon.

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P. Q.

LEARNING TO FEEL.

CHAPTER VII.

As usual, it was the common inquiry among the young people on the next Wednesday, what subject their father would choose. "I wonder what papa will talk about to us to-day," said Mary to her brother George, as they seated themselves at the table, in expectation of the family party.

George. That I cannot tell; but I should not wonder if it was about anger, and then it may do you good, for you were very angry with me to-day, and I did but just touch your elbow.

Mary. Yes, but you saw that I was writing, and you might have made me blot my paper. Perhaps papa will talk about carelessness, and that will suit you as well as anger would suit me; but I own that I was a little hasty.

G. And I own, too, that I was a little careless, and I will try not to jog your