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 sputtering; on
every hand and far down the receding and fading spreads 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
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
faces alight with material dreams-visions of a 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 heros,
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 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 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 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 His Who hearth all
supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this-keep it in
mind. If you 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 by 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 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
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 ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are
sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.