most needest heavenly aid. Have a definite aim, and upon this let your mind and your wishes be entirely fixed. True, indeed, it is that I, who know all the secrets of the heart, know what thou needest. But this I would have thee know thyself also, that the knowledge of thy own necessity and poverty may be a goad and a spur to urge thee to more fervent and more earnest prayer. Otherwise thou wilt be while thou prayest like one beating the air, casting thy arrows aimless into empty space. It will be right for thee to remember this in thy other prayers also, whether of thanksgiving or of praise.
Man. How sweet, O Lord, to my lips, sweeter than honey to my mouth, are thy words, with which thou so gently and lovingly teachest me to pray. But alas! I will confess my foolishness before the Lord, and will utter my trouble before Him. For why, wretched man that I am, should I hide my misery from thee, who seest into the heart within, and from whom my faults are not concealed? But what I bewail is this, that the heart of thy servant so seldom pours out its prayer before thee with earnestness and sincerity, so greatly is it carried away by the cares and anxieties of the world. Alas, how often I come to prayer without spirit and understanding, and pray for I know not what!
The tongue prays, but the mind is unfruitful. I pray from a mere barren custom, scarcely ever remembering the object of my prayer, which should be thy glory, or my own salvation. I am too heedless how I may duly and reverently pray for victory over my sins, and the attainment of the necessary virtues. Spare me, O Lord, our true High Priest, who only knowest how to bear with our infirmities, for thou knowest our frame.
Thou seest that now, alas, as of old, the thoughts and affections of man incline to evil from his youth. For the corruptible body weighs down the soul, and the earthly dwelling presses down the spirit, which would think, seek, and taste only the things of heaven. And what is more wonderful, or rather more piteous, so wretched am I, that I experience this misery most at the time of prayer; the very time that I ought most to seek of thee a cure for my ills and my sorrows: for then a thousand anxieties assault me, my thoughts are scattered, and they wring my heart. Oh, how I inwardly suffer while thinking on heavenly things, when a crowd of carnal things break in upon me as I pray. I desire to be intent on heavenly things, but those of earth and unmortified affections weigh me down.
Thus am I tossed on this
