The War Prayer Written by Mark Twain Published by Harper & Row It was a time of great and exalted exitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, and in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, and 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 in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voiced choked with happy emotion as they swung by; mightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts and which they interruped 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 straighway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no mor 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 turmult, the envleoping 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 hears and pured out that tremendous invocation - God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and lighting they sword! Then came then "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 enourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His might 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 stepped 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, with white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his face unnaturally pale. . . 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 Almight God!" The words hit the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention.br 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 - tht is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the pryers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of . . . "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 unspoken, Ponder this - keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a surse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the plessing 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 otoher part of it - that part which the pastor, and also you in your hears, 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 words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which fellow victory . . .cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God the Father fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commanded me to put it into words. Listen! "O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hears, 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 pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with shrieks of thei wonded, 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 wo wander unfriended the wastes of their dosolated land in rags and hunger and thirs, 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 spirt of love of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and geriend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.