There can be no set form in which a prayer shall be made. Perfect prayer, without a spot or blemish, though not a word be spoken, and no phrases known to mankind be uttered, always plucks the heart out of the earth, and moves it softly, like a censor, to and fro, beneath the face of heaven. Prayer is not eloquence, but earnestness; not the definition of helplessness, but the feeling it; not figures of speech, but compunction of soul; not gifts, but graces prevail in prayer.
God regards not the length of our prayers, nor the number of them, nor the language in which they are expressed, nor the force of the arguments used, but rather the divinity of them—how heart-sprung they are. The very cry of distress is an involuntary appeal to that invisible power whose aid the soul invokes.
The point
Prayer requires no prescribed form or eloquent language; true prayer is earnest feeling, sincere compunction of soul, and heartfelt appeal to God—eloquence and length are irrelevant.