Will a prayer that is like an arrow from a slack bow, which never pierced the breast, ever pierce the heavens? Will the hearing of the Word, when the running sands in the hourglass are more eyed than the minister, ever convey its sweetness to such an hearer? Will a sabbath that is spent only in the forbearance of bodily labor, without any ascensions of the soul to God in holy meditation, or breathings after Him in fervent prayer, either fill a man with the foretastes of heaven or make the fruitation of God in an eternal sabbath to be deemed as his only happiness?
William Spurstowe, The Wiles of Satan, p. 56
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