Lying tongues were busy tearing David's reputation to shreds, but he didn't waste breath defending himself. He moved his case to a higher court and pleaded before the great King himself. Prayer is the safest method of replying to words of hatred.

But hear this—the psalmist didn't pray with some cold-hearted mumble. He gave himself to the exercise! Threw his whole soul and heart into it! Straining every sinew and muscle, as Jacob did when wrestling with the angel. Thus, and thus only, shall any of us speed at the throne of grace.

A shadow has no power because there's no substance in it. Even so, that prayer where you're not thoroughly present—where there's no agonizing earnestness, no vehement desire—is utterly ineffectual. It lacks the very thing that would give it force. "Fervent prayer," says an old divine, "like a cannon planted at the gates of heaven, makes them fly open."

Our common fault? We're so ready to yield to distractions. Our thoughts go roving here and there, and we make little progress toward our desired end. Like quicksilver, our minds won't hold together but roll off this way and that. How great an evil this is! It injures us, and what is worse, it insults our God. What should we think of a petitioner who, while having an audience with a prince, sits there playing with a feather or catching a fly?

David's words speak of continuance and perseverance. He didn't cry once and then relapse into silence. No! His holy clamor was continued till it brought down the blessing. Prayer must not be our chance work but our daily business, our habit and vocation. As artists give themselves to their models, and poets to their classical pursuits, so must we addict ourselves to prayer. We must be immersed in prayer as in our element, and so pray without ceasing.

Lord, teach us to pray that we may be more and more prevalent in supplication.