PREFACE o Dedication + CHAPTER I + CHAPTER II + CHAPTER III + CHAPTER IV + CHAPTER V + CHAPTER VI + CHAPTER VII

May 15, 1997.

This book is in the public domain -- --

THE SOUL OF PRAYER

By

P. T. Forsyth

William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company

Grand Rapids, Michigan

This American Edition is a reprint of "The Soul of Prayer"

first published in 1916

PREFACE

For the sake of completeness, Chapters V and VI are reprinted from another little book[1] of which they make a part, and I have to thank Messrs. Hodder & Stoughton for ready leave to do so. Parts have also appeared in the London Quarterly Review, and I gladly acknowledge the complaisance of its Editor.

Dedication

TO

MRS. WATERHOUSE

Lomberdale Hall, in the High Peak

There is, high among the hills, a garden with a walk -- a terraced walk. The moors lie round it, and the heights face it; and below the village drowses; while far, far afield, the world agonizes in a solemn tragedy of righteousness (where you, too, have your sepulchres) -- a tragedy not quite divorced from the war in heaven, nor all unworthy of the glorious cusp of sky that roofs the riot of the hills. The walk begins with a conservatory of flowers and it ends in an old Gothic arch -- rising, as it were, from beauty natural and frail to beauty spiritual and eternal. And it curves and twines between rocky plants, as if to suggest how arduous the passage from the natural to the spiritual is. And it has, half-way, a little hermitage on it, like a wayside chapel, of old carved and inscribed stones. And the music and the pictures! Close by, the mowers whir upon the lawn, and the thrust flutes in the birch hedge; beyond, in the gash of the valley, the stream purrs up through the steep woods; still farther, the limestone rocks rise fantastic, like castles in the air; and, over all, the lark still soars and sings in the sun (as he does even in Flanders), and makes melody in his heart to the Lord. That terrace was made with a purpose and a welcome at will. And it is good to pace the Italian paving, to tread the fragrance from the alyssum in the seams, to brood upon the horizons of the far, long wolds, with their thread of road rising and vanishing into busy Craven, and all the time to think greatly of God and kindly of men -- faithfully of the past, lovingly of the present, and hopefully of the future. So in our soul let us make a cornice road for God to come when He will, and walk upon our high places. And a little lodge and shelter let us have on it, of sacred stones, a shrine of ancient writ and churchly memories. Let us make an eyrie there of large vision and humane, a retreat of rest and refitting for a dreadful world. May He show us, up there apart, transfigured things in a noble light. May He prepare us for the sorrows of the valley by a glorious peace, and for the action of life by a fellowship gracious, warm, and noble (as even earthly friendships may be). So may we face all the harsh realisms of Time in the reality, power, and kindness of the Eternal, whose Mercy is as His Majesty for ever.

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