Untitled
The War Prayer
by Mark Twain
It was a time of great
exulting and 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 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 depths 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 doubt
upon its righteousness straight way 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
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 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
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 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 shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay
waste their humble homes with hurricanes 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 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's writing in this piece is sheer perfection. I have a deepened appreciation and respect for him now.
Also of interest to note: Albert Bigelow Paine first published extracts from "The War Prayer" in his 1912 biography of Mark Twain with the comment that the author said he had been urged not to publish it. According to Paine, Mark Twain acceded to its suppression by stating, "I have told the whole truth in that, and only dead men can tell the truth in this world. It can be published after I am dead." A full text was collected in "Europe and Elsewhere" (1923).
Twain is not dead. His spirit walks the Internet through this important writing that we need so much right now.