Out of My Mind

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 righteous-
ness 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.

# posted by The Seditionist @ 4/16/2006 08:13:00 AM