For Samuel

The War Prayer
by Mark Twain

It was a time of exalting excitement.

The country was up in arms,

the war was on,

in every breast

burned the holy fire of patriotism;

the drums were 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 the 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

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 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 lightening 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 his 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 for 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.

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 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 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 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.

~~~

To Dan Beard, who dropped in to see him, Clemens read the "War Prayer," stating that he had read it to his daughter Jean, and others, who had told him he must not print it, for it would be regarded as sacrilege.

"Still, you are going to publish it, are you not?"

Clemens, pacing up and down the room in his dressing-gown and slippers, shook his head.

"No," he said, "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."

~ from Mark Twain, A Biography by Albert Bigelow Paine, 1912