The streamlets of our prayers rush out and conjoin with the well‐springs of our hearts, uniting in a single, mighty flow. Our broad, deep rivers of prayer move swiftly toward Thy oceanic presence, breaking all narrow embankments of indifference, dissolving every eddy and large whirlpool of worldly desire, flowing freely over the protruding rocks of bad habits, and straightening the once‐winding ways of delusion. Our great river of devotion crosses sands of human oblivion—uncounted lives, lost in eternity to present memory—and inundates every trace of past trials and painful past experience. Yet even now Thy shores seem far away! Doggedly, our flood moves on toward Thy sea of shining vastness.

Pour, Thou, unceasingly the raindrops of Thy mercy, swelling the flood of our prayers that they reach at last, triumphantly, Thine ever‐waiting shores!


197. Rock Me to Sleep On Thy Bosom of Peace