To my knees! To my knees! Oh, that I might live long years to pray for him! Oh, that I might stretch out my hands to God for him, withered with age and shrunk with fasting, and strong but in faith and final perseverance! Oh, it could not be too late! What was prayer made for, but for a time like this?
What was this little breath of time, compared with the Eternal Years, that we should only speak _now_ for each other to our merciful God, and never speak for each other afterward?
Spirits are forever; and is prayer only for the days of the body?
It was well for me that none of the doubts that are so often expressed had found any lodgment in my brain; if I had not believed that I had a right to pray for him, and that my prayers might help him, I cannot understand how I could have lived through those nights and days of thought..