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"He placed his face between his knees." (1 Kings 18:42.)

The Master in this Scripture discloses the fact that Elijah is tremendously burdened; God has rolled a crushing burden upon the prophet's heart; he sees, he knows, he understands full well the needs of the people and country. His eyes are open to this, and God purposes through him to send the needed rain, But this man of God must have heart agony, soul travail, before God can send the gracious rain upon the earth and slake the thirst of man and beast. No revival ever has come to any community or church; no soul has ever been saved or sanctified; nobody has ever been healed, but that some soul had real, vital soul travail for that blessing.

God has said Zion must travail as a woman in childbirth. The church that does not have soul travail cannot have sin-killing, soul-saving revivals. There is no man who has seen his wife travail in childbirth but understands this illustration. God, seemingly, looked all over the world and searched Heaven for a single illustration by which to illustrate the truth, the fact, the importance, of a soul being brought from nature's night into the glorious Gospel light of salvation, and He found but one, and that was, as the woman travails in childbirth, so must the Church.

Some of us have stood by the bedside with surgeons and nurse and watched our precious wives go right down into the jaws of death, into the deep valley of agony -- such pains, such suffering, no one understands but those who have had an actual experience. The wife grasped the husband by the hand and cried out, "Can I stand another three minutes like that! I do not believe I can. I thought I was dying." The doctor comes tip and encourages; the nurse brushes back the locks, and mops the beads of sweat from the brow. Then another paroxysm of pain -- oh, what suffering, what crushing pains, the groans of the wife, the gritting of her teeth, her eyes as it were set in her head, her finger-nails well nigh buried in the flesh. She cries out, "O God! how much longer can I stand this awful suffering?" It is not long until there is a cry; baby has been born.

So the Church must go down into the Garden of Gethsemane, The Christian must get in the valley of agony until there comes into one's soul inwrought prayer, a real crushing burden upon the heart, or we will never pray clear through. We must wake up to the importance, the crying need, and then keep at it, keep at it, keep at it; never let go, never let up; tug away; stand on His promises; cry aloud and spare not. Tell the devil of Discouragement to be gone; command Doubts and Fears to skulk off; look up into God's face, plead His promises, stand upon His immutable Word; cry out, "O God! Thou hast placed this crushing burden upon my heart; something must be done; something must come to pass; my soul is bleeding." Keep at it; do not quit, for oftentimes it will take some time to get down in straight, earnest, heart-wrestling prayer, so keep at it; do not get discouraged; never grow faint-hearted. If the answer is delayed, keep at it the more; keep at it the harder; go after it the stronger; be more determined than ever; keep at it, for as long as your heart is burdened and the Holy Ghost leads you, the answer is certain to come -- keep at it!'

Elijah covered tip his lookers, He would not, he could not, afford to look, It is never by sight, but always by faith, for "we are saved by faith, through grace, and that not of ourselves, it is the gift of God." Prayer is the key that unlocks the barn door, and faith, the horse, gallops off through the meadowland.

The crying need of this age is a crushing burden of prayer. The original word for soul travail, heart agony, is illustrated by the soldier life. The soldier toils; he must be disciplined; the burning sun boils upon him, the roads are dusty, but he must be disciplined. He does not drill one day, one week, one month, and stop, but he keeps at it. He must obey the captain, the general; his life is one of toil and labor. He drills, drills, drills; cold or hot, summer or winter, year in and year out, he keeps at it. That is the way he reaches the goal.

The original of this figure discloses that one must wrestle in prayer as a friend strives to save a friend from a watery grave. How quickly, how anxiously, we throw ourselves into the water and swim out, risking our own lives, to drag our friend from a watery grave.
One great trouble is that we simply repeat words, phrases, and sentences; the heart must get into it. One of God's saints prayed until he had nose bleed; another prayed until he vomited; another until the blood burst from the pores of the skin, Think of such agony!

We should give God the early hours of the morning, when the mind and body are rested, and we are fresh and vigorous. No wonder the churches are losing their attraction and are largely empty, and have resorted to questionable means and practices to raise finances. No wonder preachers are leaving the pulpit and saying their ministry is barren, and the pews are empty. It is all because there is a lack of earnest, protracted heart agony in prayer. Look at the "Mount of Blessings." There the fire is always falling; souls are continually being saved, believers plunging into the fountain, the sick being healed, and missionaries going forth to tread the dark continents of earth -- and all this because of prayer.

When a church lives upon its knees, her pews are full, her coffers run over, and there are no kitchen department, no bazaar, no broom-drills, no auctions, no gambling, no suppers needed. When a preacher has callused knees, cries by the hour over his message and people, sees keenly the needs of his people, prays clear through, souls are at the altar finding God, and he brings forth more fruit. His face is aglow, and the joybells ringing, were flashing; the little bark was tempest-tossed by the angry waves, but she held on to the oars. Five o'clock came. The awful typhoon had grown to a frightful pitch, but she stuck to her oars, she kept at it, nothing could daunt her. The devils out of Hell and demons on earth could not deter, could not dismay; she said, "I'll die or have the victory." Five-thirty came. The clouds rifted; the sun came up over the eastern horizon; the blessed Holy Ghost took this broken-hearted, weeping, earnest, honest, sincere mother, who had wrestled, who had had real, vital heart agony, who prayed clear through, in His arms, and said, "Your boy is coming home tomorrow, and will get saved."

I had just gotten up, prepared my toilet, and come out on the front gallery, admiring her flower gardens, when she came around the road, waving her bonnet over her head, shouting, crying, laughing, hollowing, "Isn't it wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! God has told my soul -- I know it: the Holy Ghost spoke it; I have the burning witness. the blessed, sweet assurance -- my drummer boy is coming." Her daughters ran out into the yard and threw their arms about their mother, and here came the sanctified father, and what a time we had in that yard that bright morning! What victory that mother had! She was more than conqueror, her face fairly shone. Eat breakfast? No -- she was supping with Him.

That morning at ten o'clock, while I was preaching, in walked a tall, nicely dressed young man. The good old mother (who always sat in a split-bottomed chair in the "Amen Corner") looked up and saw her drummer boy coming down the aisle. She jumped from that chair, and what shouting! She ran to that boy, threw her arms around him, and here they came to the altar in a long trot. That young man was gloriously saved that morning, I said, "How came you here? What brought you here? How were you impressed to get here?" He said, "Brother Harney, last night about midnight, I had a nightmare, or rather, a peculiar force got hold of me, a power got inside of me. Something said, 'Go home at once,' and I was fearful that mother was sick. I never dreamed of going to the altar, but when I opened the church door and saw the church filled with people, and saw the shining face of my sweet mother, an awful conviction leaped into my soul, and I was willing, yea, more than willing, to go to the altar or do anything to get relief -- to get saved." He said to me, "It was about twelve o'clock when the alarm bells were turned into my soul." Remember, reader, this was the exact time that that saintly, godly mother had gone down in His house upon her knees for her boy.

God has said, "I will hear when you pray. Ask, and ye shall receive. Ask largely, that your joy may be full." Had this mother listened to the voice of the enemy, looked at the discouragements, she would have given up; she would have gone from that church a defeated woman, and doubtless her boy would have gone to Hell. God put that burden upon her. God knew that was the time for that drummer to get saved, and God also knew that was the time for that mother to wrestle, have heart agony, pray clear through for that boy. That mother was determined: her face was set, and she got the victory for which she prayed,