On Private Prayer: "Animated by the Humiliation of Penitential Love"

I've noticed how easy it is to tell people on facebook or other social media, "I'm praying for you." Yet I wonder how much time is actually spent doing so. How deep are our prayers? How frequent? How often do we approach God with the reverence He deserves and seriously contend in prayer? I find myself hesitating to say or write it too quickly because Scripture teaches me not to treat prayer lightly, nor to make rash vows. If I say I will pray, I want to devote myself to doing so. Our lives have become so filled with other activities, which possess so little eternal value, I fear our prayer life is too often approached rather lightly and haphazardly.

The following is an excerpt from The Valley of Vision, a wonderful little book of Puritan prayers and devotions. Whenever I read writings from this time period I find myself longing to be able to express myself this way. I fear we've not only lost the words, we've also lost the heart behind the words. I find it valuable to refresh my mind with their Christian worldview, which sought to honor God in every part of life.

I have been hasty and short in private prayer,
O quicken my conscience to feel this folly,
to bewail this ingratitude;
My first sin of the day leads into others,
and it is just that thou shouldst withdraw thy presence
from one who waited carelessly on thee.

Keep me at all times from robbing thee,
and from depriving my soul of thy due worship;
Let me never forget
that I have an eternal duty to love, honour and obey thee,
that thou art infinitely worthy of such;
that if I fail to glorify thee
I am guilty of infinite evil that merits infinite punishment,
for sin is the violation of an infinite obligation.

O forgive me if I have dishonoured thee,
Melt my heart, heal my backslidings,
and open an intercourse of love...
Let thy mercies draw me to thyself.
Wean me from all evil, mortify me to the world,
and make me ready for my departure hence
animated by the humiliations of penitential love.

My soul is often a chariot without wheels,
clogged and hindered in sin's miry clay;
Mount it on eagle's wings
and cause it to soar upward to thyself.