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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.
-THE END-
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