These last two, the life and the person, may be called unconscious prayer.  The influence is constantly going out, though we are not aware of it.  But it is great encouragement to recall that this prayer-power is going out of us constantly.  And these two are not limited to the place where we are.  They act as a momentum to every wish we breathe, and every spoken prayer we utter, sending these with renewed force out to the place involved.  Spirit influence does not know anything about the limitations of distance.

Unseen Changes Going On.

All this praying makes a difference at the other end, the place toward which it is directed.  Things in Tokyo are made different.  The copy of a Gospel that some native in India is reading becomes a plainer book to him because of this praying.  Your prayer is a spirit-force travelling instantly through the distance between you and the place you are praying for.  And things occur that otherwise would not.

Opposition lessens.  Difficulties give way.  The road some man is travelling clears and brightens.  The truth on the printed page stands out in bigger letters.  The health renews.  The sickness or weakness gives way to a new health and strength.  The judgment steers a straight course.  The purpose holds its anchor steady.  The man rides the rough seas of temptation safely.

Things are happening.  And they are happening because some scarcely noticed young fellow hammering a barrel-head and marking the shipping directions, and some typewriter chopping her machine, are praying in the quiet time, and are praying softly in the undercurrent of their scarcely thought-out thoughts.

    “Oh, if our ears were opened
      To hear as angels do
    The Intercession-chorus
      Arising full and true,
    We should hear it soft up-welling
      In morning’s pearly light;
    Through evening’s shadows swelling
      In grandly gathering might;
    The sultry silence filling
      Of noontide’s thunderous blow,
    And the solemn starlight thrilling
      With ever-deepening flow.

    “We should hear it through the rushing
      Of the city’s restless roar,
    And trace its gentle gushing
      O’er ocean’s crystal floor;
    We should hear it far up-floating
      Beneath the Orient moon,
    And catch the golden noting
      From the busy Western noon;
    And pine-robed heights would echo
      As the mystic chant up-floats,
    And the sunny plain resounds again
      With the myriad mingling notes.

    “There are hands too often weary
      With the business of the day,
    With God-entrusted duties,
      Who are toiling while they pray. 
    They bear the golden vials,
      And the golden harps of praise,
    Through all the daily trials,
      Through all the dusty ways.
    These hands, so tired, so faithful,
      With odors sweet are filled,
    And in the ministry of prayer
      Are wonderfully skilled.