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http://www.midwinter.com/lurk/making/warprayer.html.

[This is the third time in three and a half years I've
sent this out. May it be the last.]


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. 



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twain apparently dictated it around 1904-05; it was
rejected by his publisher, and was found after his
death among his unpublished manuscripts. It was first
published in 1923 in Albert Bigelow Paine's anthology,
Europe and Elsewhere. 
The story is in response to a particular war, namely
the Philippine-American War of 1899-1902, which Twain
opposed. See Jim Zwick's page "Mark Twain on the
Philippines" for more of Twain's writings on the
subject. 

Transcribed by Steven Orso ([EMAIL PROTECTED]) 




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