Taken up in Holy Hands like a new born babe, adored and kissed by a Holy Father's lips (S. of S.1:2). A child of the King! You cry, "Abba, Father!" His lips smother you with kisses upon cheek and brow, lips and limbs. You are to Him as nectar to a bee. His lips drip. His love unrestrained. Can prayer be any less than this: A Master's Kiss? Lips which spoke the worlds into being, so delicately placed now upon you, His tiny creature. Such love, met in a moment of prayer, causes your heart to want to forever remain there!