Mark Twain War Prayer

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Miró Kiss Ida

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 sputtering; on every hand and far down the
receding and fading spreads 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 outpouring 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 faces alight with
material dreams-visions of a 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 heros, 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 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 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 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 His Who hearth all supplications, the spoken and the
unspoken. Ponder this-keep it in mind. If you 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 by 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 the Father 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 their 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 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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Miró Kiss Ida
mikida at civilpress.hu
www.civilpress.hu
icq: 126073162
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