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<title>"The War Prayer"</title>
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<h1>The War Prayer</h1>
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<h2>by Mark Twain</h2>
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<p>
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It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The
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country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned
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the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands
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playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing
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and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and
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fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of
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flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched
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down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the
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proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering
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them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by;
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nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot
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oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and
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which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of
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applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the
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churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and
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invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause
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in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.
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It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash
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spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt
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upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry
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warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank
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out of sight and offended no more in that way.
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<p>
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Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would
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leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were
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there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the
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stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the
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flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping
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smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the
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war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden
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seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud,
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happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons
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and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for
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the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The
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service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was
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read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst
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that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose,
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with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that
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tremendous invocation
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<p>
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<blockquote>
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*God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest!
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Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!*
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</blockquote>
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<p>
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Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of
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it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language.
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The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and
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benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young
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soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic
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work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour
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of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and
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confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the
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foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable
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honor and glory --
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<p>
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An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and
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noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister,
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his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head
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bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his
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shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to
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ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he
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made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the
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preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the
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preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his
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moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in
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fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord
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our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"
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<p>
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The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step
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aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place.
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During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with
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solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep
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voice he said:
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<p>
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"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from
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Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the
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stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the
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prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such
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shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained
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to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like
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unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than
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he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.
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<p>
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"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he
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paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one
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uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who
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heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder
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this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon
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yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a
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neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain
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upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly
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praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not
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need rain and can be injured by it.
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<p>
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"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part
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of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other
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part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts --
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fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly?
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God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the
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victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the *whole* of
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the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words.
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Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for
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victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which
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follow victory--*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it.
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Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of
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the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!
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<p>
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"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our
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hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in
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spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved
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firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their
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soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their
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smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us
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to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their
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wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble
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homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of
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their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn
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them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the
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wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst,
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sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter,
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broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge
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of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord,
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blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter
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pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their
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tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet!
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We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of
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Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that
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are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts.
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Amen.
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<p>
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(*After a pause.*) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire
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it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"
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<p>
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It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic,
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because there was no sense in what he said.
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<p>
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<hr>
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Twain apparently dictated it around 1904-05; it was rejected by his
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publisher, and
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was found after his death among his unpublished manuscripts. It was
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first published in 1923 in Albert Bigelow Paine's anthology,
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<cite>Europe and Elsewhere.</cite>
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<p>
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The story is in response to a particular war, namely the Philippine-American
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War of 1899-1902, which Twain opposed. See Jim Zwick's page
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<a href="http://web.syr.edu/~fjzwick/twain_ph.html">"Mark Twain
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on the Philippines"</a>
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for more of Twain's writings on the subject.
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<p>
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<em>Transcribed by Steven Orso (snorso@facstaff.wisc.edu)</em>
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<pre>
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</pre>
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<h5>
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Last update:
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October 8, 1995
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