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warprayer.xml
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THIS IS GLEN BREAKING THE XML FILE!!
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE TEI SYSTEM "tei_all.dtd">
<TEI xmlns:xsi="http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema-instance">
<teiHeader>
<fileDesc>
<titleStmt>
<title>The War Prayer: an electronic edition</title>
<author> Mark Twain </author>
<principal>Jacqueline Hettel</principal>
<respStmt>
<resp>Initial creation of TEI header and transformation of original TEI-compliant SGML to TEI P5
XML</resp>
<name>Stanford University. Libraries. Humanities Digital Information Service</name>
</respStmt>
</titleStmt>
<editionStmt>
<edition>TEI-conformant ed.</edition>
</editionStmt>
<extent></extent>
<publicationStmt>
<publisher>Humanities Digital Information Service of Stanford University</publisher>
<availability status="restricted">
<p>Freely available to the Stanford community</p>
</availability>
<date>1999</date>
</publicationStmt>
<sourceDesc>
<biblFull>
<titleStmt>
<title> Mark Twain's Weapons of Satire </title>
<author> Mark Twain </author>
</titleStmt>
<extent>p. 156 - p. 160</extent>
<publicationStmt>
<publisher> Syracuse University Press </publisher>
<pubPlace> Syracuse, New York </pubPlace>
<date> 1992 </date>
</publicationStmt>
</biblFull></sourceDesc>
</fileDesc>
<encodingDesc>
<projectDesc>
<p>Originally prepared as part of course readings for Hilton Oberzinger, Stanford University, Winter 2000. Most recent revisions involve converting the text into TEI P5-compliant XML.</p>
</projectDesc>
<editorialDecl>
<p>Text downloaded from http://www.aracnet.com/~atheism/hist/twainwp.htm and verified with print edition.</p>
</editorialDecl>
</encodingDesc>
<revisionDesc>
<change when="1999-10-5">
<name>Peter W. Burchard</name>Revised header, finished mark-up, parsed.
</change>
<change when="2013-4-23">
<name>Jacqueline Hettel</name> Converted TEI-lite SGML into TEI P5-compliant XML. </change>
</revisionDesc>
</teiHeader>
<text><body>
<pb n="156"/>
<head><title>The War Prayer</title></head>
<div1 type="text" org="uniform" sample="complete" part="N">
<p>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
<pb n="157"/>
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. </p>
<p>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!-
<pb n="158"/>
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--</p>
<q>God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest!
<lb/>Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!</q>
<p>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 -- </p>
<p>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!" </p>
<p>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: </p>
<p>"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,
<pb n="159"/>
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.</p>
<p>"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. </p>
<p>"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! </p>
<p>"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
<pb n="160"/>
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."</p>
<p><hi rend="italics">(After a pause.)</hi> "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!" </p>
<p>It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said. </p>
</div1></body></text></TEI>