A nice poetry by Mark Twain:
O Lord, Our Father
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,
Burdened 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
Mark Twain
