When Thou camest, I smiled in my soul‐cottage by the little brook of life. O Mystic Electrician, the many‐tinted bulbs of unawakened happiness, long dependent on my nerve‐clogged senses, refused to scintillate with light. For the nerve‐wires had been torn and shaken by high winds of outward involvement. O Thou Silent Physician of Illness! Heal my tattered nerves! Restorer of shining currents in our lives, resurrect all the dead nerve‐wires not only in me, but in people everywhere.
Breathe into their bodies an unleashed ow of power, that all the unlit, bare‐wired and dangling bulbs of their senses may suddenly shine again with Thy blazing glory.
I am but the bulb: Thou art the holy energy that can animate it. Thou art, indeed, both bulb and light. Help all men to realize this miracle!
Heal all our shattered nerves, and flood all the disease-clogged wires leading to those bulbs with the effulgence of Thy divine light.