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The War
Prayer by Mark Twain...
It was a
time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up
in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy
fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands
playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched
firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and
far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and
balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the
sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide
avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud
fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering
them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung
by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting,
to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of
their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest
intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running
down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors
preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the
God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in
outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every
listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the
half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of
the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness
straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for
their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of
sight and offended no more in that way.
Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would
leave for the front; the church was filled; the
volunteers were there, their young faces alight with
martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the
gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing
sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping
smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from
the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in
golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear
ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and
friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the
field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing,
die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a
war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first
prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that
shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose,
with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that
tremendous invocation God the all-terrible! Thou who
ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!
Then came the "long" prayer. None could
remember the like of it for passionate pleading and
moving and beautiful language. The burden of its
supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant
Father of us all would watch over our noble young
soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their
patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of
battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty
hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the
bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them
and to their flag and country imperishable honor and
glory --
An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and
noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the
minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to
his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a
frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face
unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes
following him and wondering, he made his silent way;
without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and
stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher,
unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving
prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered
in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the
victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land
and flag!" The stranger touched his arm, motioned
him to step aside -- which the startled minister did --
and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the
spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an
uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:
"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from
Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a
shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention.
"He has heard the prayer of His servant your
shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire
after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its
import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like
unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more
than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and
think.
"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has
he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is
two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the
ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and
the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you
would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest
without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the
same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your
crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying
for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need
rain and can be injured by it.
"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered
part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words
the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and
also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And
ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so!
You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our
God!' That is sufficient. the whole of the uttered prayer
is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were
not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have
prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory
-- must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the
listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of
the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!
"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our
hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With
them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet
peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord
our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds
with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields
with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to
drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their
wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their
humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring
the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing
grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little
children to wander unfriended the wastes of their
desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of
the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter,
broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for
the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes
who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their
lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their
steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white
snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in
the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and
Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that
are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite
hearts. Amen. [After a pause.] "Ye have prayed it;
if ye still desire it, speak! -- The messenger of the
Most High waits!"
It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic,
because there was no sense in what he said.
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