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Apocalyptica - One |
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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.
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