104 Sermon Illustrations on Prayer

A chaplain in an army hospital told the inmates that he was going to a prayer-meeting, and asked any of them that desired prayers for their salvation to raise their right hands. Hands were raised all around: here and there a stump was extended; one raised two stumps; another had not even these, but, rolling his head as he lay, said, "Me, me!" At the Commission Chapel in Chattanooga, the same sign was requested for the same object; when a hand was thrust through the window. One standing without desired to find Jesus.

All the promises in the Bible are so many bills of exchange drawn by God the Father in heaven upon his Son Jesus Christ, and payable to every pious bearer, — to every one that comes to the mercy-seat, and offers the promise or bill for acceptance, and pleads in the way of obedient faith and prayer. Jesus, the High Treasurer of heaven, knows every letter of his Father's handwriting, and can never be imposed upon by any forged note. He will ever honor his Father's bills: he accepts them all. It is for his Father's honor that his bills never fail of acceptance and payment. J. Beaumont.

It is helplessness casting itself upon power. It is infirmity leaning on strength, and misery wooing bliss. It is unholiness embracing purity, and hatred desiring love. It is corruption panting for immortality, and earth-borns claiming kindred in the skies. It is the flight of the soul to the bosom of God, and the spirit soaring upward, and claiming nativity beyond the stars. It is the restless dove on drooping wing turned to its loved repose. It is the soaring eagle mounting upward in its flight, and with steady gaze pursuing the track till lost to all below. It is the roving wanderer looking towards his abiding-place, where are all his treasures and his gold. It is the prisoner pleading for release. It is the mariner of a dangerous sea, upon the reeling topmast, deserving the broad and quiet haven of repose. It is the soul, oppressed by earthly soarings, escaping to a broader and purer sphere, and bathing its plumes in the ethereal and eternal. Mrs. E. R. Wells.

A young lady heard a voice as of one engaged in conversation, and distinguished the words, "O Lord, have mercy upon the dear youth of this place!" She was struck with the thought, "Is this the way Christians go about the town, and mingle with the world? Do they pray thus for our souls? I have hardly ever prayed for my own." From that day, she began to pray, and became the first-fruits of a glorious revival.

When Archbishop Secker was laid on his dying-bed, his friend Mr. Talbot came to see him. He felt it was their last meeting together; so he said, "You will pray with me, Talbot, before you go away?" Mr. Talbot rose, and went to look for a prayer-book. "That is not what I want now," said the dying prelate: "kneel down by me, and pray for me in the way I know you are used to do." So the good man knelt by his friend's bedside, and poured out his soul for him before his heavenly Father in such words as his heart dictated.

Prayer is the rustling of the wings of the angels that are on their way bringing us the boons of heaven. Have you heard prayer in your heart? You shall see the angel in your house. When the chariots that bring us blessings rumble, their wheels sound with prayer. We hear the prayer in our own spirits; and that prayer becomes the token of the coming blessings. Even as the cloud fore-shadoweth rain, so prayer fore-shadoweth the blessing; even as the green blade is the beginning of the harvest, so is prayer the prophecy of the blessing that is about to come. Spurgeon.

A soldier said in a revival-meeting, "My fellow-soldiers, I am not excited: I am convinced; that's all. I feel that I ought to be a Christian, that I ought to say so, to tell you so, and to ask you to come with me; and now, if there is a call for sinners seeking Christ to come forward, I for one shall go,—not to make a show, for I have nothing but sin to show. I do not go because I want to (I would rather keep my seat); but going will be telling the truth. I ought to be a Christian, I want to be a Christian; and going forward for prayers is just telling the truth about it." More than a score went with him.

When Maimon went one day to Hillel, he was sitting in his garden, under the shade of a palm-tree, meditating. Maimon said, "Master, about what are you meditating?" Then Hillel said, "I have a friend who lives upon the produce of his estate. Till now, he has carefully cultivated it, and it has well repaid his toil; but now he has thrown away the plough and hoe and is determined to leave the field to itself: so that he is sure to come to want and misery." — "Has he gone mad?" said the young man, "or fallen into despondency?"—"Neither," said Hillel. "He is of a pious disposition, and well grounded in learning, both human and divine. But he says, 'The Lord is omnipotent, and can easily give us nourishment without our bending our head to the ground; and, as he is gracious, he will bless my table, and open his hand.' And who can contradict him?"—"Why," said the young man, "is not that tempting God? Have not you told him so?" Then Hillel smiled, and said, "I will tell him so. You, dear Maimon, are the friend I am speaking of?"—"I?" said Maimon, and started back. But the old man replied, "Are you not tempting the Lord? Is prayer less than work? and are spiritual blessings inferior to the fruit of the field? And he who tells you to stoop your head to the earth for the sake of earthly fruit,—is he not the same as he who tells you to lift your head towards heaven to receive his heavenly blessing?" Thus spake Hillel, and looked up to heaven; and Maimon went away and prayed, and his life became a very godly one.

Among the elegant forms of insect-life, there is a little creature known to naturalists which can gather round it a sufficiency of atmospheric air; and, so clothed upon, it descends into the bottom of the pool, and you may see the little diver moving about dry and at his ease, protected by his crystal vesture, though the water all around and above be stagnant and bitter. Prayer is such a protector, a transparent vesture. The world sees it not; but, a real defence, it keeps out the world. Dr. J. Hamilton.

By the omnipotent help which it at once secures, prayer is strength in weakness, and courage in dismay. It is the buoy which rides the roaring flood, the asbestos-robe which defies the devouring flame. It is the tent in which frailty sleeps secure, and anguish forgets to moan. It is the shield on which the world and the wicked one expend their darts in vain. And when panic and temptation and agony are all over,—whether wafted by sabbath zephyrs, or winged by scorching flame; whether guided by hymn-ing angels, or dragged by raging lions; whether the starting-point be Patmos or Jerusalem or Smithfield or Babylon,—it is the chariot which conveys the departing spirit into a Saviour's arms. Dr. J. Hamilton.

A man complained to his pastor, that he had prayed a whole year for the comforts of religion, but had received no answer. His minister replied, "Go home and pray, 'Father, glorify thyself.'"

According to Grecian fable, a fearful and fatal plague swept the dominions of Æacus, King of Ægina. The air became poisonous; the fountains were corrupted; animals and men perished alike; physicians could give no help; and all hope vanished: finally, there was none left to mourn. Sons and husbands, old men and youths, perished unlamented. Then Zacus, standing before the altar of Jupiter, and raising his eyes to heaven, cried, "O Jupiter! if thou art indeed my father, and art not ashamed of thy offspring, give me back my people, or take me also away!" Jupiter showed his acceptance of the prayer. He gave the king also a vision, showing the mode of answering the prayer. He saw a vast number of black ants, which grew larger and larger, dropped off their superfluous legs, changed color, and finally assumed the human form. The vision passed from the king with regret and fear, lest it should be unrealized. The king's son called his father to behold a wonderful thing. There was a myriad of newly-created men, even as he had seen in his vision, who proved a diligent, industrious, and devoted race.

Little Eddie's mother sickened with the small-pox, and was removed for the safety of her family. He thought she would not have left him if she loved him. He decided to write her a letter to find out. So he took a sheet of paper, and scrawled it all over; then folded it, and put it in an envelope, and scrawled upon that, and gave it to his father, saying, "Send that to mamma, and I'll see if she loves me." His father told him a Philadelphia lawyer could not read it. His mother received it that night. and laughed and wept to see it. "It is from my dear little Eddie," said she; "and I can read every word of it." She answered the letter, to Eddie's great delight; telling him just what he wanted to know. She knew his desire, if she could not read his scrawl, and so fully satisfied him. Even so it is with our heavenly Father.

An eminent electrician, as the result of his experiments with the Atlantic cable, relates the following: "With a single galvanic cell, composed of a few drops of acid in a silver thimble, and a fragment of zinc weighing a grain or two, conversation may readily, though slowly, be carried on either through one of the cables, or through the two joined together at Newfoundland so as to form a loop."

A devoted Papist in Spain felt the need of something more than Paternosters and Ave-Marias, but did not know how to pray in any other way. He went every morning reverently before the Lord, and repeated the letters of the alphabet, adding, "And now, O good God! put these letters together to spell syllables, to spell words, to make such sense as may be most to thy glory and to my good."

The missionaries to the Fiji Islands were threatened with destruction by the enraged natives, and had no means of defence except prayer. Their enemies heard them praying, and became fearful, and fled. The reason was given by one of themselves: "They found you were praying to your God, and they know your God is a strong God; and they are gone."

During the troublous times of Scotland, when the popist courts and aristocracy were arming themselves to suppress the Reformation in that land, the cause of Protestant Christianity was in imminent peril. Late on a certain night, John Knox was seen to leave his study, and to pass from the house down into an enclosure to the rear of it. He was followed by a friend; when, after a few moments of silence, his voice was heard as if in prayer. In another moment, the accents deepened into intelligible words; and the earnest petition went up from his struggling soul to heaven, "O Lord! give me Scotland, or I die!" Then a pause of hushed stillness; when again the petition broke forth, "O Lord! give me Scotland, or I die!" Once more all was voiceless, noiseless; when, with a yet intenser pathos, the thrice-repeated intercession struggled forth, "O Lord! give me Scotland, or I die!" And God gave him Scotland in spite of Mary and her popish missionaries.

The saints in distress, especially, used to make their prayers with vows. Hence prayer, in Greek, is called a service with vows. Mr. Philpot, martyr, first coming into Smithfield to suffer, kneeled down, and said, "I will pay my vows in thee, O Smithfield." J. Trapp.

A correspondent of the New-York Evangelist, says: I was acquainted with a young man who knew what ambition is in all its madness. He sought to be great, and he sought for nothing else. For years he thought and felt and dreamed about nothing else. For that he labored and prayed: yes, though an infidel, he believed in the existence of a God, and he used to pray to him that he would grant him the object of his desires. Often at midnight, when the world was lost in sleep, he would pause from those mental labors which were destroying the energies of his youth and wasting away his life, and pray that God would give him intellectual powers—that he would give him might of mind which would enable him to move and shake the world. He used to tell God that he might deny him any thing else if he would grant him only this. And he was willing to pay any price for it; he was willing to do any thing, or suffer any thing, or sacrifice any thing in order to gain it. And he would promise if God would give him power of intellect that he would exercise it on the side of right and in opposition to wrong. With such feelings he labored ten long years, and oh, how he labored! He toiled night and day. For weeks he would not retire to rest till three or four o'clock in the morning, and then not to sleep. His mind and nervous system were in such a state that he could not sleep. He would lay two or three hours in a dreaming, half-conscious state, and then he would rise and commence his work again. And lest the appetites and indolence of the body might hinder him in his work if he should live with other people, and live as they did, he lived alone, upon bread and water, and had no bed in his room; only a blanket in which he would wrap himself and lie down upon the floor, with a large book under his head for a pillow. He hated every thing calculated to draw him a moment from his studies. Even the kind voice of his poor old mother, entreating him with tears to take some rest or a little food, he hated, and he would scowl upon her and turn madly away.

Thus he lived for many years until a mighty change came over him. In a book he was one day reading, occurred these words: "When all is gained, how little then is won! And yet to gain that little how much is lost!" The words arrested his attention; they sunk deep into his heart, like the voice of a spirit! The whole truth flashed like lightning across his soul. He now beheld the fame he had toiled for, as ABSOLUTELY WORTHLESS. "When all is gained, how little then is won!" said he. "Yes, how little! O, what is it? It is nothing. Fame, O, what is it? The breath of fools and devils. That is the object on which I have set my whole heart, and for which I have been laboring. When all is gained, how little then is won! And yet to gain that little how much is lost! Yes, How much is lost! O, how I have been laboring and suffering for it; I have given all for it; all of this world, and all of the next."

His whole frame shook under the emotions such thoughts awakened—his hard heart broke, and he wept! Yes, he who from childhood up had never shed a tear. He wept burning tears of agony—wept as a man, perhaps, never weeps but once. Rage succeeded to sorrow. "Oh, what a fool I have been," said he; "what a wretched fool—the fool of fools—the greatest fool in the world!" He looked round upon his books and papers, (for he was at this time a lawyer,) and said, "This business I have followed for HONOR, and here it ENDS." And he seized his books and papers and threw them upon the floor and stamped upon them. "Here ENDS THIS BUSINESS," said he. And he went to his trunk and took out his law diploma, and tore it in pieces—seized his axe, knocked down his sign and split it in pieces, and carried them to the middle of the street, and trampled them in the mud. He now felt that he had nothing to live for. He thought there might probably be something in the Christian religion. He examined its evidences, was convinced and converted. And now the ambitious infidel lives to preach the gospel of Christ. Let young men read this and learn a lesson. I would say to them, dread ambition as you would a demon. # 19. ANC

"Father Hull," now deceased, was a preacher of the old school, S. C. Conference. Passing along the highway one evening, in a strange, wicked country, he called at a good looking house for lodgings. Weary and faint, he sat him down by the fireside. After a while, as night began to close in, companies of well-dressed gentlemen and ladies flocked into his room. One drew out his violin and commenced playing. Away scampered the youngsters, hopping and leaping. It was "a ball!" Here sat the stranger looking silently on. At length a partner was wanted, and one ventured up and asked Mr. Hull if he would take the floor. "Certainly, madam!" said he, rising and walking out on the floor as he spoke; "but I have long made it a rule never to commence any business till I have asked the direction of the Lord, and his blessing upon it. Will you all join in prayer with me?" As he spoke these words, he fell on his knees and began to pray. Some kneeled, others stood, all petrified with astonishment. In the mean time, being a holy, faithful man, and peculiarly powerful in prayer, he seemed to draw the very heavens and earth together. Some groaned, some shrieked aloud, and many fell prostrate, like dead men, on the floor. Truly the place was sweet and awful on account of the divine presence. In short, the dance was turned into a religious meeting, from which many dated their conviction and conversion, and the commencement of a powerful revival. "Behold what a great matter a little fire kindleth!" O, had we more faith and intrepidity, what good we might do! How glorious to attack and drive the devil from his own strong holds.

In the district which I once travelled, says a writer in the Christian Advocate, on Easter Monday, 1825, a gentleman invited a number of his neighbors to dine with him; and among the rest a good Methodist lady was invited. She accepted the invitation, and attended, without the most distant thought that any thing contrary to her profession would be introduced. In this, however, she was disappointed. For, after dinner, the fiddle was brought in; the company rose to play and amuse themselves by dancing. At length one, with a spirit more daring than the rest, approached her, and asked her to dance. Without a verbal reply, she rose from her seat and accompanied him on the floor. The company was arranged, the fiddler sitting with lifted heel and elbow sprung, and no doubt, the devil laughing in his sleeve, and saying, "Another Methodist safe in my trap." But the good angel whispered, "Not yet, sir." She paused, and then said, "It is my custom to sing some first;" and standing there, she gave out some verse and sang. She then said, "It is my custom to pray some first," and dropped upon her knees and prayed; and no doubt her prayer was the legitimate offspring of a warm heart. Some of the company remained, some ran away, and some trembled and wept. The dance was broken up, the fiddler disappointed, the devil defeated, and the good Methodist lady victorious.

A most remarkable case occurred at the siege of Copenhagen under Lord Nelson. An officer in the fleet says, "I was particularly impressed with an object which I saw three or four days after the terrific bombardment of that place. For several nights before the surrender, the darkness was ushered in with a tremendous roar of guns and mortars, accompanied by the whizzing of those destructive and burning engines of warfare, Congreve's rockets. The dreadful effects were soon visible in the brilliant lights through the city. The blazing houses of the rich, and the burning cottages of the poor, illuminated the heavens; and the widespread flames, reflecting on the water, showed a forest of ships assembled round the city for its destruction. This work of conflagration went on for several nights; but the Danes at length surrendered; and on walking some days after among the ruins, consisting of the cottages of the poor, houses of the rich, manufactories, lofty steeples, and humble meeting-houses, I described, amid this barren field of desolation, a solitary house unharmed; all around it a burnt mass, this alone untouched by the fire, a monument of mercy. 'Whose house is that?' I asked. 'That,' said the interpreter, 'belongs to a Quaker. He would neither fight, nor leave his house, but remained in prayer with his family during the whole bombardment.' Surely, thought I, it is well with the righteous. God has been a shield to thee in battle, a wall of fire round about thee, a very present help in time of need."

A little girl, about four years of age, being asked, "Why do you pray to God?" replied, "Because I know he hears me, and I love to pray to him." "But how do you know he hears you?" Putting her little hand to her heart, she said, "I know he does, because there is something here that tells me so."

A Christian widow in London saw with great alarm, her only child taken dangerously ill. As the illness increased she became almost distracted, from a dread of losing the child; at length it became so extremely ill, and so convulsed, that she kneeled down by the bed, deeply affected, and in prayer said, “Now, Lord, thy will be done.” From that hour the child began to recover, till health was perfectly restored.

# 322. Praying with Importunity and Earnestness.

A little boy, one of the Sunday school children, in Jamaica, called upon the missionary, and stated that he had lately been very ill; and in his sickness often wished his minister had been present to pray with him. "But, Thomas," said the missionary, "I hope you prayed." "Oh yes, sir." "Did you repeat the collect I taught you?" "I prayed." "Well, but how did you pray?" "Why, sir, I begged."

323. Praying with Constancy and Perseverance.