The breath of prayer

The streetlamp pours its pale washacross the still wet bricks,and the summer's breezeis an eddying of invisible feathersacross my gazing face.If my thought rested lightly,like the wind—were undiminishedby sweeping across the hills and lawnsof a vast sleeping city ....If it should move so freelyand always bring a gentleness, a presencesenses cannot see, nor encasein lifeless form .... It is thusI would bring a healing touchto someone out thereopen, too, to a tendernessin the dark, a darknessthat, in this presence, has becomelightfor a city that has no need of sunor moon, but only of the whisperof this glory.

MAURICE JAY

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The unselfed nature of Christian healing
February 4, 1985
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