Many who know me know that I have a dear connection with the great Mark Twain... I'm not much of a fiction reader (got enough of a wild imagination).. but his articles and essays just keep me coming back for more and more.. It's been a while since I last added to my classic readings.. so this morning during my short break I looked for a quick read and stumbled upon The War Prayer.. a short story (about a page or two long) by Twain written approximately 100 years ago.. Now I shan't add the complete story.. as many complain of long posts.. though it is short and easy to read.. (those of you who want to read it click here)
In a nutshell:
During war.. on a sunday morning.. many people are gathered in a church for a prayer, families and their volunteering patriotic young ones.. the pastor is finishing his prayer when an old stranger enters the church, walks down the aisle and stands by the pastor's side and says:
"I come from the Throne - - bearing a message from Almighty God!"
He goes on to say that they have prayed but have left another prayer unspoken..
"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."
P.s.
Get it ?
